Everybody Deserves A Second Chance
by hybridbpv
Summary: This is it. This is the story of Clint and Natasha, from the beginning until the very end. Every last detail from how they met, their partnership, their adventures... From friendship to their love-hate relationship. "I swear to God, Barton." She growled, making a face. "I'll dig your eyes out with a spoon if I get the fucking chance." Rated for sexual content and coarse language.
1. Budapest

**Everybody Deserves A Second Chance**

**Chapter 1**

**_January 7th, 2006._**

_Mission update, over._

_Roger, over._

_Target is in Budapest, over._

_Is back-up needed? Over._

_Back-up is not required, over._

_Estimated time to completion, over?_

_Exact time cannot be predicted, over._

_Good luck, Agent Barton._

_Thanks, Agent Coulson._

* * *

The archer turned the transmitter off with a sigh. It'd been 5 months since he'd had any sort of break. The reason?

The Black Widow.

The most dangerous assassin that he will ever meet.

He'd been sent to kill her.

She was known for her immense abilities - her speed, her agility, her cognitive reserve… her _beauty_. Natalia Romanova was her name.

The most dangerous name he'll ever come across.

For the past 5 months, Clint had tailed her from country to country. Heck, he'd had to shave and go blond for the sake of it.

And for the past 5 months - he'd seen more red than in his lifetime.

_She's working for a group known as the "Red Room". I know, ominous name, ain't it. From what we know, she's an assassin with skills beyond Olympic material. Ballet, gymnastics, you name it. Take as long as you need, Agent Barton. But do be quick._

Clint chuckled as he recalled Fury's briefing.

_We're sending you in because you're familiar with the situation. And because you'll have finally met your match._

And for the past 5 months, Clint had to admit that she'd exceeded all his expectations. She was so much quicker - so much smarter than he thought she would be. Before her, he crossed path with a lady by the name of Black Lotus. She probably had half the intellect and a quarter the skill that Romanova did.

* * *

It was at sun-down that he found her trail of blood.

Still freshly red, when all the other puddles had began to turn brown._ Oxidation._ Yes, of course. The work that the KGB did meant that her blood took 10, if not 20 times the normal person to lose oxygen. The effects of the super-soldier serum. Sometimes, Clint wish he had it in him.

Clint wished that he was faster, more indestructible - a better soldier.

But then, again, he _is_ the world's greatest marksman.

Bodies scattered in the building she entered only 20 minutes ago. There had to be at least 15 of them. The cold corpses, necks twisted into angles too painful to even look at. Clint could only imagine the scenario - rapid gunfire, cross combat. Even if they outnumbered her so greatly, they were no match for her. It would take years upon years of training to even stand a chance.

_The Widow has great thighs_. Clint chuckled darkly, just as Fury did when he slid a picture of her doings towards him on the table.

_Yes, she does._

Moving along quickly, he found a trail of blood too fresh to be of her targets. There were bullet holes in the walls. She took them on alone.

That's the way they did it: _Alone._ Because anything else would be a burden. Anything else would be a problem.

His boots clicked against the cold cement as he tracked the trail. She'd stopped bleeding half-way, but it was pretty obvious where she had to go. Either the hospital, which was highly unlikely, or somewhere remote - somewhere no one would go. Somewhere she could wait for the serum to heal her, to work its' magic.

This was his chance.

His boots slid off smoothly as Clint placed them back in his bag. With his clothed feet, he silently made his way up, his sharp eyes scanning every last corner of the building.

And there she was, on the floor, her head rested against the wall.

The Black Widow was bleeding out.

With a hand pressed against the ugly, gushing wound on her ribcage, she looked up to find the archer with his bow and arrow aimed at her. A fleeting chuckle passed her sharp features. A hand swept across her belt to reach for the handgun.

"Don't." Clint just tutted. "My arrow is faster than you'll ever be."

"Was worth a shot. No pun intended." Her raspy voice had a casual tone to it, but it was weak. Natalia had kept all the shaking, all the nerves out of it. Like the perfectly skilled and accomplished spy that she is, she plastered on her best smile, welcoming the agent.

"I'm sure you're aware of your situation,_ Natalia._" Clint said as he moved closer to her, step by step, his movements deliberate as he inched towards the small woman.

"You took your boots off… smart." She sighed. _What are we in, the 16th century?_ "If you're going to do it, do it now. You may not get a second chance."

"Any last words?" His muscular arm drew his bowstring back, ready to make the final move. Clint knelt down beside her, his arrow pressed onto her sternum, cornering her against the wall._ A second chance… A second chance…_

His arrow scratched her forehead, ready to take her life.

Natalia looked at him, sighing her final breath as she blinked, closing her eyes for the last time._ You are ready to die._

The air between them crackled - neither of them dared to breathe.

_Everybody deserves a second chance…_

Those were the words that struck Clint to join SHIELD. If those words were never uttered, he wouldn't be here. If Phil had continued with his "your skill set is unmatched" bullshit, Clint could've sworn he would cry hysterically. But right when he was about to, Phil had uttered those 5 words.

The words that changed his life.

"Everybody deserves a second chance." Clint sighed, lowering his bow and arrow, keeping his weight pressed on her knees. His thumb brushed against the small scratch on her forehead, wiping away the blood.

The assassin frowned, her eyes opening again. "What do you mean? You mean you're going to kill me some other time? What is this - a game to you?"

"No." He shook his head, stating simply. "No… It means I'm giving you a second chance."

"What if I kill you now?" She stroked the gun that was holstered on her belt.

"You don't kill unless there's a reason for it. You've accomplished your mission." Clint sighed.

"You tried to kill me."

"Fair enough… Still. I've seen your doings. Magnificent body count, even if you try to minimise it."

The archer placed his bow and arrow on the floor, shrugging off his bag and opening it and fished for something. There was a circular piece of metal, the size of his palm.

"You're not going anywhere any time soon." He chuckled, eyeing her wounds. "But still, one must take their precautions when dealing with the infamous Black Widow."

"What are you doing?" Natalia frowned as he locked the anklet in place. It beeped to life with a green light, blinking every 5 seconds.

"Ankle tracker." He shrugged.

"I know what it is, but what are _you_ doing?" The Widow reached up weakly to grab him by his collar. "Weren't you sent to kill me?"

"I was." He nodded, standing up and sliding his transmitter out from his bag, brushing her hand idly off him. "But rules are made to be broken. I'll be a minute."

Natalia Romanova sat in the corner, bewildered by the man's words.

_Everybody deserves a second chance._

What _was_ it in his voice, his look? The softness that surfaced when he lowered his bow, almost as if he was hurt. The gentleness in his touch when he placed the metal ring around her. _Forgiveness._

Forgiveness wasn't something Natalia was so familiar with. She'd read it in dictionaries, but that was it. There was no forgiveness in the Red Room - no forgiveness in her field of expertise, and yet, such man; such an ordinary man could think of it?

_Emotions are a weakness. Stay away from them._

Her mentor's words from her younger years echoed in her brain - the voice she knew, the voice she feared so greatly._ You have to detach yourself from any emotion, regardless on the field or otherwise. They will cost you the mission. Stay cool and heartless - your country requires your service._

She watched him as he moved. He was near perfection. Such body of a man - toned muscles, straight posture, correct stance as he paced around. His silhouette etched on her eyes as she followed him. There was no aspect of him that didn't show his weathered past. Beyond his thick jacket, Natalia could imagine - the scars… the evidence of his years on the field. The physical marks on him, staining him.

"This is Agent Barton reporting." Clint uttered clearly into the phone, his humour drier than usual.

"Clint? Is everything alright? Why are you calling my mobile?" Phil's concern passed through in his tone.

"I'm fine. Listen, I have her."

"You _have_ her…" _It means he hasn't killed her. _Phil sighed. "This better be good."

"You know how you said that she's the most dangerous thing I will ever come across?"

"Mhm."

"She doesn't have to die."

"Clint - not this again."

"No, listen to what I'm trying to say. She has information… A lot of information. She has the skill set, the intelligence."

"But she - "

"Phil…" Clint sighed, pausing for one moment, relaying his words to him. "Everybody deserves a second chance."

Agent Coulson stood, his foot tapping as the words sank in. Those were the exact words that convinced the world's greatest marksman to join SHIELD. Those were the words that changed who he was - gave him a new life.

Clint listened for his response, but on the other end, all was silent. "Phil?"

"Yes. I'm still with you." He sighed. "Look, Clint, this isn't going to go well with Fury and - "

"He values your opinion. He puts it higher than anyone else's. You'll figure something out, right?" Clint pleaded.

"If she refuses, you kill her. Understood?" Phil spoke sternly.

"Roger that."

Clint clicked the red button as he returned to where the assassin was. "How are we holding up?"

"Better than ever, obviously." She scoffed, half-hissing her words.

"So injured, still ever the silver tongue." Clint chuckled, taking a seat on the floor in front of her.

"Why?"

"Why do you have a silver tongue?"

"No. Why are you doing this? You could've easily killed me. Was it all too easy for you?" Natalia questioned, her rage boiling up inside of her. "Is it because I'm too weak now?"

"It's because I've faced a similar situation." He shook his head, almost apologetically. "I've been in your place. I know how you feel."

"You don't know _anything_!" She hissed, clutching her wounds.

"Join me."

"What?"

"Work for SHIELD. Join me." He pursed his lips. "Or I have to kill you. I know your abilities - you're the most fascinating being I've ever seen work. You complete your missions. Although you lack a moral compass, you do the job and you do it very well."

Natalia frowned, her brows knitting into a knot on her forehead.

"I'm doing this because there's more to it than just killing on behalf. There's more to it than the slaughter, the pain. Work for SHIELD - you'll have your own freedom. I've heard about what they do in the Red Room, and frankly, if I were you, I wouldn't last."

"They only mean the best for my country." She spat defensively.

"And look what that's gotten you into." He eyed her bleeding wounds, hovering a thumb over her. "Look - you have a target, a price on the back of your head. Sooner or later, Interpol's going to find you, and when they do; they're not going to be offering what I am."

"You were originally going to kill me. Up until the moment where your arrow touched my head."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because there was a frailty in your eyes." He stated, his voice softening. "Your eyes… they looked apologetic." Almost as if searching for salvation.

The assassin pursed her lips together._ Such child! He knows nothing about you, and he's pretending to be an old friend. _"Bullshit."

"Think about it." Clint sighed, propping himself on his elbows as he leaned back, closing his eyes. "_It matter not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll…_"

"_I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul…_" Natalia finished off his stanza._ Invictus…_

_Soul._

Such a topic to touch on, having only known her for a few minutes. It all became clear to her - the clouds shrouding her eyes had vanished. Her jade green eyes brighter, sharper than ever. _Because he has soul_. He's an assassin - a sniper, by the looks of it, but he has soul.

Like her.

Never had she come across a person who thought that she had heart, that she had a soul. For her - it was too broken for the segments to be put back together. It would take God, himself, to descend from heaven and give her His blessings.

"кто ты? _Who are you?_" Her voice tugged at her throat as she whispered, emotions threatening to seep through.

"Клинт Бартон. _Clint Barton._" He replied, his Russian fluent, although a hint of an accent. "Это приятно, наконец, встретиться с вами. я могу исцелить ваши раны? _t's nice to finally meet you. Can I treat your wounds?_"

She nodded hesistantly.

The archer reached into his bag for the medical kit as she peeled her shirt off of the wounds. His calloused digits worked the cotton and gauze on her skin, softly cleaning the blood and ugly gash.

"Alright." She sighed, loosening up.

"What?" He frowned as he looked up.

"I'll come with you. It's not like I have a choice anyway." She stated. "I could kill you, but… My instincts are telling me to go with you."

"That's great. Can you walk? It's more comfortable in the safe house."

"Okay. I'll be fine." Clint watched her prop herself up as she winced at the movement. "Here, let me help you."

"I don't need your help." She hissed, swatting his arm away.

They walked slowly and silently to his car. The cool breeze tingled on her skin, blood caked on her clothes, but his body was warm against hers as he insisted to drape her arm over his shoulders.

* * *

"You stay put. You have the serum, right? How long do you think it's going to take before you can move properly again?" He asked, changing his set of clothes in the bathroom. Clint checked the zipties on her wrists before nodding, satisfied.

"A few hours." She stated.

"Well, I'm going to the bar for a few drinks." Clint huffed, shrugging his jacket on as he opened the door. "The key's with me. Don't try anything funny."

Natalia sat stupidly on the bed._ You might as well rest up… It's not like you can do anything without him knowing with this… thing on._

Pulling a stool towards him at the bar, he sighed and made his order. As usual - Whiskey on rocks.

_What have you gotten yourself into? First - you disobey orders to save her, then you ask her to _**_join_**_you? Get a fucking grip, Barton. It's not even your fucking call! Fury's going to give you shit when you go back, so you might as well make the most of tonight. _

* * *

After God knows how many Whiskeys, Clint made his way back to the room, fumbling with the keys.

The assassin heard the jingle and sat upright, despite the protest of her ribs. By now, the wound had sealed itself._ How many has he had?_ Natalia took a read on him. _Around 180 pounds… so… 8 drinks?_

"Good to see you're still here." The archer's words were slurred, he slumped onto the bed next to her.

"What if I kill you?" She arched a perfect, red brow.

"You won't know how to get that thing off. SHIELD will give you hell about it." Clint laughed.

"I'm sure I'll figure it out." She spat.

"You go ahead." Clint waited for her next words, which didn't come. "I'm meeting my handler at seven a.m. sharp. You're coming with."

* * *

The pair set off at 0500 hours, walking in the dark on the main road. Something was off. Everything was too silent.

The town was consumed by the darkness. What little of streetlights they had flickered with inconsistency. It was a chilly night, bitter winds picking up from time to time. Freshly showered, Clint took Natasha down the path as instructed.

A sudden fire of a gun.

The bullet had merely missed Clint by a palm's length.

"What the fuck?" Clint hissed as he dodged, pulling both of them to the side, behind a building.

"Calibre?" She asked.

"Eight mil, I think."

"They're with them."

"Them? They? Are you going to explain?"

"The nest I wiped out. Apparently, it wasn't all of them."

"Ahh…" Clint nodded, analysing the situation. "How many?"

"I don't know. At least a dozen." She frowned. "Look - are you going to give me a gun, or something?"

"Belt." He nodded as he whipped out his retractable bow and reached for some arrows. "You shoot me, you know what happens."

"The SHIELD thing comes after my ass. I gotcha." She quipped. "Ready?"

"When you are."

The pair stood as one, running out, Natalia covering Barton. A series of 5 arrows were fired.

And as always, he never missed.

"Does SHIELD equip _everyone_ with such ridiculous equipment?" The assassin asked, her bullets quickly taking down 3 of her own.

"What, my bow? It's the weapon of my choice, I love it!"

"I can see that, Robin Hood."

"Now, now, Romanova." Clint and Natasha both sighed simultaneously when the last thug was taken down. "They underestimate us, sending these…_ amateurs_."

She laughed at the look of disgust on his face. "My thoughts exactly. You're still red from the booze."

"Oh yeah? You can tell? Dammit." He chortled. "Oh… Russians are Orthodox, aren't they?"

"Yes, we are."

"С Рождеством!_ Merry Christmas!_" The Russian came out slurred, with a thicker accent this time.

"спасибо._ Thank you._" She returned, her words smooth, like silk. "и вам тоже._ And to you too._"

* * *

Clint sat next to Phil, opposite Natalia on the chopper.

"You know - of all the stunts you've pulled, I'd say this one was the worst." Phil chuckled as he eyed Natalia.

"Have you ever read The Hobbit?" Clint asked, tired, scratching his head.

"Yes. What about it?" Phil raised an eyebrow.

"_True courage is about knowing not when to take a life but when to spare one._"

"Gandalf… The old man speaks words of wisdom."

"You did the same for me, Phil."

"You like making references, don't you?" Natalia butt-in to their conversation. Phil only chuckled.

"I have my way of doing things." Clint smirked.

"We're going to touch down at base in a moment, Clint. Would you _please_ put on the belt and _fasten_ it!" Phil muttered.

"Fine, fine." Clint reached up and pulled the cord across his body, huffing out. "Welcome to SHIELD."

**~END CHAPTER~**

_A/N: Sorry for disappearing so long! I was working on this for a while and I really hope you like it! Thank you for reading this, there's more coming (: Please review and like it xx_

_Inspiration: Invictus - William Ernest Henley_


	2. The New Girl

**Everybody Deserves A Second Chance**

**Chapter 2**

**January 15th, 2006**

A week after Budapest - Natalia was still getting used to the SHIELD life. They had been so much more welcoming, warmer than she'd ever expected. There was no such warmth in the Red Room.

_Agent Coulson will be your handler._ Fury had said, officially introducing Phil Coulson. The small, middle-aged man looked as if no threat, but it seemed like he had a lot of respect from all other members of their society._ We'll see whether he deserves it…_

"Miss Romanova." Phil Coulson's voice rang inside her voice, bringing her back to the interrogation room. They sat opposite each other with an empty, white table between them.

"Yes, I'm sorry." She apologised slowly. The way that they did things here was too… soft.

"How are you adapting to your new life?" At least Agent Coulson attempted the small talk.

"I'm… well, thank you." Natalia eyed the one way glass on her left, only guessing who was behind it._ Probably the director…. and the archer._

"I just have to ask you a few personal questions to fill in your official statement of recruit. Your full name, please?"

"Natalia Alianovna Romanova, although…" She sighed.

"Hm?"

"I would like to be called Natasha Romanoff." She shifted uncomfortably, sensing the_ oh_ from his expression. "Natalia was my past. If I, no… I would prefer using the non-formal way to preserve my identity."

"I see." Phil nodded as he jotted her words down in neat script. "And your birthday?"

"Twenty fourth of November, eighty nine." She recited easily.

"Any… relatives, associates?"

"My foster father…" She gulped silently. "Ivan Petrovitch. He died."

"Languages?"

"Russian is my first language." She stated. "English, German, Polish, French, Italian and Spanish and Latin, though they are basically the same, and Mandarin."

"Natural hair colour?"

"Red - this colour."

Phil nodded.

"Weapon of choice?"

"Bite."

"Bite? As in… your teeth?" Phil raised a brow.

"No… Widow's bite, my electro-bracelet. I'm also trained in a range of martial arts, but the bite is by far the most convenient."

"Ah… So, it has a name." He smiled easily. "Anything else?"

"Handguns, pistols, guns in general, although I'm better with short range weapons. I see you have the long ranged sniper sorted." She snickered at the glass before looking back at Phil.

"Skills and abilities?"

"I'm not a mutant from the X-Men." She furrowed her brows, almost angry, but that quickly dissolved. "I seduce. I kill. I fight. Just the normal stuff."

"Any other things we need to know?"

"I think you've got it sorted, judging by the intimacy that Agent Barton showed knowledge to. If anything pops up, though, I'll let you know." She shrugged.

"Right. I need to take a photo for your access card and profile."

* * *

Fury and Barton stood, crossed armed as they watched Phil take the shots.

"She really grows on you, doesn't she?" Fury said, keeping his eye on her.

"That's the way I would put it."

"Agent Coulson told me you were nearly shot on the mission. That's not like you."

"Sir, with a decision like that, I had to wash it away somehow."

"Do you regret it?"

"No, of course not." Clint chuckled. "I think our agents, both male _and_ female are glad that I brought her back."

Fury only raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You seem more at ease."

"Well… I did a good thing, didn't I?"

"That you did… that you did."

"I think they're done. What's next?"

"Lunch, and then her psycho-analysis and physical examination."

"When's she doing the official assessment?

"Tomorrow." Fury moved his hands to his hips. "Go get some food, Agent Barton. You're enjoying yourself way too much."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"Heya, Natasha." Clint slipped himself into the chair opposite her in the lunch room. It'd been the 6th time in a week that he'd attempted to start a conversation with her.

At first, Natasha thought she would be like all the other Agents that had taken the initiative to talk to her; either to pick her up, or to weigh her up. She liked neither of the options.

That problem didn't exist with Clint Barton.

The usual lust that exhibited in the men's eyes was dimmed down so she only got a hint of it. He knew what she was made of - what she was up to, so the weighing up option didn't fit the criteria either. It was his infectious passion, enthusiasm, his warm smile that was the problem.

"Hi." She simply huffed, chewing faster.

"Come on! Be a good sport. I get some credit for saying 'hi', at least." Clint chuckled as he prodded his salmon.

"I would like to keep myself unattached until the official documents have been sent in."

"Boo… You're no fun!" The archer pouted childishly.

It was as if he was a different person. From the cold, analytical Barton to the fun and smiley Clint. All it took was the thumbs up from Phil and he would spin 180 degrees.

"Fine. What do you want to talk about?" Natasha rolled her eyes, almost sighing.

"Anything you want."

"Why are you smiling?"

"Because you're willing to talk to me."

_Oh…_

"Why do you choose your bow and arrow of all the weapons?"

"Because I feel as if they are a part of me." He shrugged, pursing his lips together to find a suitable explanation. "You know when you train with something so much that it becomes not only natural, but an extension to your body. You just trust that it works, because you've done it so many times before. It's kind of like that."

She nodded knowingly. _So, you're not the only one._

"How do you know Russian?"

"I learnt it in my spare time. Fury thought it'd be useful for my fieldwork."

"How long did it take?"

"The basics? Around… two weeks, give or take?"

They shared a long, pregnant pause, neither of them chewing, but looking directly into each other's eyes.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"There's nothing good to talk about."

"You don't talk to a lot of people either."

"Neither do you." Natasha raised a brow at him. "The only ones I've seen you have a decent conversation with are Agent Coulson and the Director. And if I push it, Agent Hill."

"Point taken."

"So, why me?" She asked. "So many people you could've sat with. You probably know them better anyway. Why me?"

"I don't know." _You feel yourself drawn to her, that's why_. "Maybe you're nearly as good as me?"

"I can kick your sorry ass any day."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Agent Barton." She nodded as she dapped at her mouth with a napkin, picking up the tray and standing up.

"Agent Romanoff." He returned the nod, standing for etiquette to see her off.

* * *

"We'll start with some simple word pairings. Have you done them before? They're simple." Phil asked, eyeing the sheets in front of him. Of course, he was only asking the questions. The man in charge with emitting agents was behind the glass, with Clint and Fury.

"Yes."

"For example, I might say 'bird', and your answer would be?"

"Sky."

"Yes… Very good. Let's see…" Coulson skimmed the rows of words. "Age?"

"Youth."_ Time._

"Love?"

"Bliss." _Vulnerability._

"Night?"

"Sleep." _Oppurtunity._

"Discipline?"

"Education." _Whip._

"Family?"

"House." _Dead._

"Children?"

"Lovely." _Impossible._

"Health?"

"Doctor." _Apple._

"Heart?"

"Blood." _Target._

"We'll move on to the next sections. The Rorscharch test. Ink blotches? You've seen them before?" Phil asked, taking a few breathers before shuffling the sheets to rearrange their placements. Natasha nodded. "Tell me the first thing that you see - we'll do five of them."

The first image was placed in front of her.

Natasha picked it up, running the possibilities through her head. "It looks like a butterfly?"

"Okay, how about this one?"

"A flower."

They ran through all five cards before Phil could tell that she was bored out of her bones. "I think we're done here…"

Natasha sighed a breath of relief.

"Tell me, Natasha…" Phil scratched his head idly. "What do you think about Clint?"

"I think he's an idiot." She scoffed, moving herself forwards to lean against the table. "For saving me." _No assassin should have mercy. He didn't complete his mission. Another fault of sentiment… But he saved your life. He may be ignorant and naive, but he saved your life. You owe him. You rather he'd not. You fucking hate owing people - especially when it comes to something big like this._

"I see." The agent chuckled. "Well, you only have the physical examination to take place, and the field assessment tomorrow and you're good to go. Paperwork's been cleared."

"Thank you. Shall I go now?" Natasha leaned back, sighing. _More boring bullshit._

"I'll lead the way."

"An idiot." Fury smirked. "I'd agree."

"I'm your best agent, Director." Clint easily retorted.

"That you are."

"I know I am."

"You made the right choice, Clint. You've been so much happier these few days." Fury smiled before leaning against the wall.

"Thank you." Barton sighed. "You familiar with Tennessee Williams?"

"Who isn't?"

"Well, he said something somewhere, I don't remember where I know this from, but; _Hell is yourself an the only redemption is when a person puts himself aside to feel deeply for another person._"

"I swear you're just making shit up. How do you remember so many quotes?"

"I have no idea."

"How's she doing on paper, doc?"

"She's all clear."

_Yeah, right._ The two assassins thought collectively._ As if she couldn't recite the correct answers backwards already._

"I have some new things you might want to try out." Fury tapped Clint on the shoulder.

"Will do, sir." He nodded. "Are they in the arsenal, or the lab?"

"They?" Fury chuckled. "No, no, no. Tomorrow. Be at the training room at ten, sharp. Make sure you've digested your breakfast first."

"Yes, sir."

"You're in very good shape." The nurse eyed Natasha's body jealously.

"Thanks." She sighed. "I work hard for it."

"Measurements?"

"What?"

"I need them for reference to order uniform."

"Thirty six, twenty four, thirty six."

"Okay." She bit her lip as the pen worked on the paper. Natasha read her like an open book. With a magnifying glass. The jealousy was carved into her eyes like a fucking sculpture. "Please proceed to sit on the chair and cover your eye with the patch, read out what you can from the list."

"I have twenty-twenty vision."

"Please co-operate."

"E, M, Z, 2, S, Q, 1, 0, 3…" Natasha read the list off quickly.

"And on the other eye. I'm changing the board."

"J, 8, D, X, A, 3, 1, B, T…" She said again.

"Open your mouth."

"AH."

A thermometer was prodded roughly on her tongue.

* * *

After an hour of various scans and prods, she was finally done.

Natasha made her way back to the dining area to find Clint already on the corner table that she usually occupied. She smirked.

"How did the examinations go?" Clint asked brightly as she joined him.

"It's a physical examination. What do you expect?"

"Well, I don't know. The serum - doesn't it make you superhuman?"

"It's supposed to. But that's all shown_ tomorrow._ Today was the boring stuff. Temperature, heart rate, eye checks, posture and bones, blood work…_ breast examinations._" She smirked, letting her last words fall out carefully._ Why'd you do that, again? Ah… yes._

Clint's breath obviously hitched in his throat as his mind filled with the image of her wonderful cleavage for a split second, but he quickly dismissed the thought and faked a cough.

Natasha watched as she fucked with his mind. His pupils dilated, lips parted… all the usual responses. She gave herself a content smile. _So you _**_do_** _have the usual effect on him._

"What do you do in the assessments?" She asked, stirring her tea mindlessly.

"Oh, you know… targets, pushups, pullups, running five k, treat assessment, response times - that type of stuff. Much more interesting than the things today." Clint looked up to recall his entry assessment.

"Yes, I can imagine."

"So, I'm an idiot, huh?"

"Yes."_ He _**_was_**_ behind the glass… as expected._

"I'm a happy idiot, then."

"I should go to sleep early, then?" She laughed as she picked up her tray. "Need my energy for the assessment."

"Oh, come _on_!" Clint pouted. "You're the famous Black Widow… You're unstoppable."

* * *

_The pain was searing in her skull, crushing her, like her world was collapsing all on her temples. Her body spasmed uncontrollably, small limbs flailing, muscles contracting against her will. Her eyes were rolled back, the electrodes firing volts into her small head… until the shaking finally stopped. The little girl laid on the medical table, trembling, terrified._

_"вы закончите, Наталия. We're finished, Natalia." The female voice spoke sternly. "идти мыть и сон. Wash your face and go to sleep."_

_She found herself floating - her feet weren't touching the ground as she struggled to walk against her weak body. Natalia ventured into the darkness, colours swimming in her mind - red…_

_Red was all she could see._

* * *

Natasha woke up with a gasp, beads of sweat on her forehead as her body shot up. Her hand instinctively swept across her thigh for her gun, but only to find nothing but the cold touch of her skin. Her torso slumped back onto the bed as her chest heaved.

The nights were amongst her least favourite times.

It'd gone on forever. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd had nightmares. The muscles she ripped during ballet training. Her trainer's words, washing over her. The electrodes on her head… The bodies… The red…

Most of the times, she'd just toss - but this… It'd been the second night in a row that she woke like that._ Get a grip, Natasha._

The archer entered the training room at 0955 hours, waiting for Fury or Coulson to appear. _New things… Wouldn't they be in the arsenal?_

The assassin saw him in his black, sleeveless and training pants._ God, damn._ His muscles were even more defined than she'd imagined. The vein running along his left arm, the slight tan mark where the glove met his skin… "Good morning, Agent Barton."

"Good morning, indeed, Agent Romanoff." Clint eyed her in her sports bra and yoga pants. Even if it did press her breasts against her, they were still very impressive. The lines on her stomach showed her clearly defined abs, her tiny waist, and her pants only clung on to emphasise her perfectly shaped hips. And her legs… Curvy… They seemed not to end.

"Ah… Agents." Fury stepped in, sensing the heat in the atmosphere. "I've cleared the area just for you two, today. Take advantage of it."

"Wait… Us two?" Clint furrowed his brows, looking to Natasha before looking back at the man. "Two, sir? I thought you had something for me to try."

"Yes… You've been set as the supporting assessor, which means - "

"That I need to spar with her." Barton sighed, finishing off his sentence. "I was looking forward to some new gadgets, but I guess this is better…"

"You guess?" The redhead raised an eyebrow at him.

"You never know." He shrugged idly.

"Agent Coulson and Agent Hill will join you in a moment. I have some business to attend to, although I'm sure Agent Hill will be kind enough to show me the footage. I expect great things from you, Agent Romanoff. Have fun." Nick smiled to himself, almost like an inside joke.

"He always like that?" Natasha asked.

"More or less." He said.

* * *

"We'll begin with some simple exercises… Are you warmed up?" Hill looked at Natasha supportively as she nodded. "Please attach these to your chest, two inches below your clavicles."

Natasha stuck the two patches as instructed, Clint and Phil both trying to look away. "Five k?"

"Five k." Maria nodded. With a press of a button, the treadmill buzzed and the belt started to move. Natasha's legs carried her effortlessly through the first hundred meters. The agent handed her an oxygen mask. "We're scoring you based on performance, as you would expect."

"Is this about speed, heart rate, or what?" She breathed before sliding the mask below her pony-tail.

"The faster you do this, the more points you score. But we also monitor your heart rate and oxygen intake."

"The record?"

Clint smirked.

"Men or women?" Hill smirked.

"Both."

"Men - Just under thirteen minutes. Max heartrate - two hundred BPM." Hill looked at her clipboard, reading the small text.

"Who's it set by?" Natasha asked, although she already had a feeling.

"By? None other than our very own, Clint Barton." Phil laughed, clapping Clint on the shoulder, who shrugged, smirking.

"And the women's?"

"Women's - Fifteen minutes exactly. Max heartrate - two hundred and twelve BPM." She said again.

"I'm guessing it's yours?" Natasha turned to look at the brunette.

"That is correct." Maria nodded.

"You know, you better stop talking and run, Romanoff. You're slowing yourself down." Clint took two 20 kg dumbbells and started doing flies.

"Watch me."

That was the last thing Natasha said before she went quiet, increasing her pace until 13 minutes later, she was done. There was a slight sheen of sweat on her pale skin. Her chest heaved as she stepped off the treadmill.

"Time?" She asked, bending over to catch her breath.

"Thirteen forty five." The agent smiled, impressed. "I guess if anyone were to smash my record like that, I'd want it to be you."

"Thanks." She chuckled. "Next?"

"Fifty pushups, hundred sit-ups, hundred squats then ten pullups." Maria pointed to the mat that Coulson was laying out. "Whenever you're ready. We take your breaking time as well, mind you."

"Do you also record my fluid intake?" Natasha joked as she gulped down at least half a bottle of water.

"See, don't you like her sense of humour?" Clint chuckled, replacing the weights.

* * *

After a perfectly executed round of bodyweight exercises, Natasha sat on the mat, starting to feel her body get sore.

"I must say… I'm very impressed." Coulson chuckled from the bench he was sitting on, looking at Natasha.

"Thanks."

"Fury'll be happy." Maria smiled as she offered a hand to Natasha, pulling her up. "Clint?"

"Yeah?"

By now, the man was dead-lifting a 150 kg bar.

"Drop it. It's show time." Maria spoke to Clint as he lowered the bar, huffing out a deep breath before jumping over it and walking to the cage. "Remember, play nice, children."

Her jade green eyes looked up at his blue-grey ones. A fire lit up in them. As Clint wrapped up his knuckles, he did an easy stretch, lunging forwards and sideways. "Go easy on me, Widow."

"I'll try my best to kick your ass. It is an assessment, after all." She smirked, walking to her corner.

"So harsh, always." The archer stretched his arms out before his piercing gaze focused on her.

"Five rounds. Go." Hill declared.

The Widow was the first one to move, running directly towards the man. Using a leg to push her up, she stepped on his shoulders and aimed a kick at his chin. Of course, Clint saw this coming as he grabbed her ankle, lifting her easily with one hand and pressed his weight forward. As her head came closer to the ground, she curled up, a hand sweeping at the tendon on his ankle and making him lose contact with the mat. The two of them landed on the floor with a big whack.

Not skipping a beat, Clint crawled onto her, leaning his body against her as he locked her arms behind her back.

"Easy, Clint." Coulson tutted, looking at the pair that was enjoying themselves so much. With his words, Clint released her, stepping away and helping her up.

"I guess I _do_ have the jump on you." He shrugged, a cocky smile spread across his face as he looked at the pissed off Widow.

"I guess you _have_ been following and observing me for five months." She snapped quickly.

"I guess I have."

"You're not getting away so easily next time, Barton." She only chuckled as she planned her actions whilst walking back slowly, pretending to prod at the 'sore' regions that he'd just attacked. Natasha Romanoff loved a good challenge. It has been far too long that she sparred properly.

The serum not only increased her physical strength and potential, but also her cognitive space and awareness. It meant that she had double, if not triple the IQ of the average person, if and when she wanted to. She quickly pictured it, jab to the head, twisted arm, kick to the ribs and… thigh hold._ He'll get the idea._

Natasha felt a burning in her lower abdominal - not pain, he didn't hit her _that_ hard. It was arousal. The strength he showed, his skin on hers, it made her burn with such a flame. Red hot.

She touched her gloves together, signalling that she was ready.

Like a predator, she stalked him, her eyes never leaving him. The right moment came when he blinked. Her hand shot out, hitting his just next to his temple. She quickly caught his hand and spun around, twisting it in an uncomfortable position. As he turned to unwind himself, Natasha brought herself up with his arm as leverage, sending her leg out as her ankle contacted his ribs squarely.

He fumbled backwards.

She took the chance.

Moving quickly, she jumped, opening her legs and clamping his neck between her thighs - but instead of snapping his spinal cord, she brought her weight down so by the end, she was sitting on his chest with her legs either side of his shoulders. Clint looked up at her, wolf whistling.

Before he could do anything else, she stepped away, grabbing his forearm and pulling him up, growling, glaring at him.

"Easy, tiger." He chuckled, licking his lips.

He'd never met anyone that could match his talents - not in the circus, not here. Until she came along. The fact that her spirit was as competitive, if not more, than his was fuel for his could've sworn there was a hint of the smell of arousal on her thighs.

The next three rounds were less harsh. The agents already had a taster of what she was capable of, and Phil wanted to keep Clint's neck intact. It was a see-saw, a back and forth showing of each other's abilities. They both absorbed it like sponges, Natasha would throw a few punches at his chest in his own style, and he would mimic her roundhouse kicks.

As Maria and Phil looked on, they sensed the happiness - the endorphins that floated amidst the sweat. A smug grin fitted itself on both their faces, although Natasha was clearly having more fun than all of them had ever seen. Even Clint was surprised to find her eyes sparkling with delightful spirit and enjoyment. And in a way - this was more relaxed than both of them had been in a long, long time.

"Since you two are only playing around, I'm going to have to stop you." Maria sighed, hating to be the one to stop them from their fun.

"But - " Clint pouted as he protested as he reluctantly peeled his hands off her.

"She has other assessments to go through. You can spar all you want after that. It's only eleven. You have the room the _entire_ day." Maria scolded good-naturedly.

"She's right, Clint." Phil joined them by Maria's side. "It's only reaction testing and target assessment anyway, won't take long."

"Fine." He sighed. "I'll meet you down there. I just need a quick drink."

_What the fuck are you doing? Why are you enjoying yourself so much? Yes - she's witty, and beautiful, and charming, and she's not afraid to hurt you, but it's part of your job._

Clint scratched his head as he sat on the bench, a towel draped around his neck.

_Be careful what you wish for, Barton. One day - she might be the death of you._

* * *

When the archer joined them in the room, they'd already completed the treat assessment and reaction testing. Maria was setting up the target sheets while Phil was chatting to Natasha.

"When did you start your target practise?"

"When I was nine."

"You do this a lot?" He asked, crossing his arms.

"Yes." She answered, sighing, waiting for all of this to finish.

"What targets do you usually use, or did use?"

"People." She shrugged coldly.

"People?" His brows furrowed, looking across to her. "You mean… human shaped sheets?"

"No. People-people. Real people."

"Dead?"

"No. Living." She sighed. "In the Red Room… there were… war criminals. My mentors would set them loose in a room - of course they'd try to flee. It was a good moving target practise."

"Oh."

Clint listened, horror striking his mind. She couldn't have been serious. A little girl holding a weapon, shooting at… living beings. A shiver ran through his body as he moved next to her.

"Ready?" He asked, hiding his fear.

"I'm always ready."

"We're good on my end." Maria set, running her hand along the sheet one last time before pressing a button, the sheets moving to the side of the room. "The targets will move horizontally towards the centre. The quicker you shoot and the more accurate you are - "

"The more points I'll get." Natasha nodded, sighing. "What weapons am I using?"

"They're all on the table there. Each clip will be loaded with ten bullets. You get to choose five guns to try. We'll average out your score." Maria pointed towards the corner at the back.

Natasha walked towards the table, an array of handguns and pistols at various gauges set neatly. She ran her eyes over the options…_ Ruger SR22, Walther PPQ, Kimber Solo 9 mil, Remington R1 Carry, Glock 17 Gen 4._ The assassin quickly made up her mind as to which guns to shoot, picking up the Walther PPQ.

* * *

With the head-sets in place, Natasha was motioned to begin the assessment. The first target moved from her right. Within a split second, 9 bullets were fired into the 4x zone, and 1 in the 5x.

Clint and Phil looked at each other, impressed.

The other targets increased in speed, but her shots were consistent and her score averaged out to 4.1. Natasha sighed as she slid off the headset and goggles, looking back at Maria for confirmation. "We're all done." She smiled with a thumbs up.

* * *

The 4 of them sat in the interrogation room, Maria flipping through her sheets of information and smiling. "You've passed - with flying colours! Congratulations. You are now an official member of SHIELD. You'll be authorised to access our facilities by tomorrow morning, no later. It's up to the Director to assign your position, although… You'll have a relatively easier time than the rest of us."

"Thanks." She smiled, content and freshly showered.

"You're the best I've seen…" Phil chuckled. "Apart from this man here."

Clint grinned, nodded. "Nah, man. I swear it was easier five years ago."

"Go have some lunch… Remember, the training room's open for the two of you." Maria ushered them out of the room.

"Yes, Ma'am." Clint waved them goodbye as he left with Natasha.

"Did you see the look on Clint's face?" She asked, sitting opposite Coulson.

"What, when they were sparring?"

"Just… the way he looked at her in general. He has a thing for her."

"Doesn't everyone?" Phil frowned. "Have you met her? She's the Black Widow. Even _you_ have a thing for her. I've never seen Maria Hill smile so brightly to another woman before."

"True that." She sighed. "But Clint…"

"I know. I've never seen him like that before either. She has a thing for him too. The air between them crackles."

"Should we - "

"No. This stays between you and I. Fury doesn't have to know about it. And I have a feeling that even if he did know, he wouldn't care."

"Why?"

"The world's greatest marksmen and one of the best assassins. Why do you think?"

"Fair point, well made." Maria chuckled. "But he's going to sense it, soon enough."

"As long as Clint and Natasha keep it together."

* * *

"You look happier than ever." Natasha told Clint as they waited in line for their food.

"I am." He nodded, smiling, picking up a carton of milk.

"Why?"

"You're as good as me."

"You still beat me."

"I'm a man. I have the more immediate physical advantage, although, I see that the serum has made up for the most of it." He chuckled. "I've been training with the best since I was ten. I've been with SHIELD for almost five years now."

"You still beat me." She huffed, picking up her tray. The pair moved to their usual corner. Fury was waiting at the table.

"Agents." He nodded.

"Sir." Clint returned the nod, and Natasha remained silent.

"I need to borrow Agent Barton for a few minutes, would you mind?"

"Of course not, director." Natasha shook her head, sliding into her seat.

"We'll only be a minute."

"Don't wait up." Clint chuckled as he walked beside him.

"So?"

"Hm?"

"What do you think of her, Agent Barton?" Fury asked, taking him to the corridor.

"She's the best. Next to me." He shrugged. "What am I _supposed_ to think of her?"

"Do you think you'll work well together?"

"Tog - what? _Together?_" Clint frowned. "No, no, that can't happen, sir."

"Why not?"

_Because you're attracted to her._ "Because she's stubborn."

"I'm sure you'll work it out between you."

"But, sir - "

"It's an order, Barton. I've sent in the documents already."

"And what will we be known as?" The archer sighed, defeated.

Fury clapped Clint on the shoulder before walking back to his office, leaving him on the corridor. "Strike Team Delta."

* * *

"Apparently, we're a team, now." Clint huffed as he sat back down in his place.

Natasha nearly spat out her tea.

"We're_ what?_" She frowned with a stiff stare.

"We're a team. Apparently, now."

"Did you do this?"

"Me? What? No!" Clint made a face as he mumbled. "As pretty as you are, Romanoff, I prefer working alone. Fury seems to have other plans for us."

"You really think I'm pretty?" She asked softly.

"Who doesn't?"

Natasha had to actively repress her growing flush, she could feel her cheeks warm._ You can't let him see that_.

It's not like she hasn't been told before.

_Here, we have an example of what men want. A relatively small girl._ The instructor motioned to Natalia, who was standing stiffly in front of the group of her peers. _To make him feel big and strong. As you can see, Natalia here, also possesses large, firm breasts. For those of you who don't, our organisation will make them happen in the near future. Symmetry in her face, small waist in comparison to her hips, pouty lips. These are all good features that will make it easier for your work._

Being made a prime example made her feel_ dirty _as hell. Why her? Why not someone else?

She had no clue.

She'd also been told by countless of her marks, whether drunk, poisoned, or otherwise.

"You think it's going to work?"

"Hm?" She was caught off guard, completely. "Uh… We don't really have a choice, do we?"

**~End of Chapter~**

_A/N: Thank you for reading! Please (as always), review and favourite and share this around (:_

_I'm planning to update this once a week (on Mondays) if my Mac doesn't screw up big time. (It's typing like THis AnD I DOn"T know how to stop it. If anyone has any experience witH it, could you please send me a message? I've saved all my work but I'll probably need to clear the drive and reinstall everything._

_Really hope you enjoyed it (: xx_

_Inspiration: Nothing in particular, but multiple highschool AUs_


	3. Partners

**Everybody Deserves A Second Chance**

**Chapter 3**

**August 12th, 2006**

After 6 months of training, 6 months into their hot and cold partnership - this was it. It was their first mission together; _finally._ Natasha had been so bored - stuck indoors, shooting practise, running through rules and protocols... It wasn't until the last month that she bugged Fury to let her out and do some actual missions.

Of course, she and Clint spent a lot of time at the gym - sparring, working out together. They grew accustomed to each other's presence, as if almost natural that they were together. Everything was a good sign. From the moment that she'd covered his ass in Budapest, Clint _knew _that there was an unexplainable yet explicit and instant chemistry between them.

Even the ever patient Clint was starting to struggle to keep it together. 6 months - only 1 tiny mission. Only 1 target, who was far too easy to take out for the archer's likings. He knew why Fury was doing this - he wanted him to keep an eye on the newbie, though, she was already much more experienced than the majority of the people back at base. It was trust issues - All assassins had them. _Some more than others_. Obviously, Fury didn't trust the redhead to leave base, let alone mission time.

"Don't be nervous." Clint looked over to Natasha on the chopper.

"What tells you I'm nervous?" She raised her brow, her tone threatening, but she tuned it down a little after he flinched. "I'm not nervous."

"You haven't uttered a single syllable since we got on our ride. What's up?" He pursed his lips together, thankful that her hostility towards him had gradually dimmed down in the last few months. It was still funny to see her terrorise other agents, though. Phil and Maria were probably the exception - even Fury had kept his distance.

"I don't work well with others." She sighed, running a hand through her auburn hair.

"Well, now you do." He said supportively. "Remember what I told you?"

"We're the best." She stated in his tone. "How cocky can you get, Barton?"

"As cocky as need be, Romanoff." He said. "Relax. He's picked an easy one for us to begin with."

"Yes, yes… A simple find and kill. You've ran over the details with me a hundred odd times, naggy dimwit."

"That's because you've been nervous ever since we received it, anxious numskull."

"What I'm trying to say is that it shouldn't be that simple."

"You're over analysing things, Romanoff."

Natasha was glad that she'd established the "no first names on missions" rule. She was also desperately waiting for the mission-Clint to replace the _Hawkguy-_Clint. The man's tone of voice and playfulness was far more than distracting.

"Just trying to make sure." She said, sighing.

* * *

"Target acquired." Clint spoke through the headpiece, walking through the crowd with his tremendous smile. Already, he'd gathered a heard of bitches that flocked behind him. Pretending to think to himself, he looked up to the second floor, then at the ceiling, scratching his head with one hand. _No security up top._ "Navy suit, your eight o'clock. He's talking to another scumbag, but he'll walk your way soon enough."

"Roger that." Natasha sighed quietly, taking a sip of her vodka.

"He might spike your drink." Clint chuckled, amused at how she held her alcohol.

"My metabolism allows me to fight intoxication as well as other things… He'd have to dose me enough for an elephant for it to start the fire." The assassin hissed, hating the underestimation. "I feel naked without my gun."

"Don't talk to me now, he's right behind you." He glanced at the man as he sat down beside Natasha, despite the row of empty stools. He turned off his own microphone.

* * *

"What brings you here tonight, my lady?" Julek Bilinski could not stop staring at Natasha the moment he'd set his eyes on her.

It was a cocktail party, which meant that she could flaunt her body in so many different ways.

For tonight, she'd chosen a silk dress, deep V cutting with ruches at the waist. Her flawless back was exposed to the evening mist, pale skin almost glowing in contrast to the navy fabric. Her dress only held up by two tiny spaghetti straps. With a pair of high heeled sandals to match the drop earrings dangling amidst her burning hair, Natasha felt refreshed, pampered and glamorous - and she acted that way.

"What gives my solitude away?" She quickly smiled at him, one overing his outfit._ Walther PPQ in right pocket._

"No date would leave such a beautiful girl alone… Not even a split second." He smoothly laughed, white teeth glistening. "Julek Bilinski. It's a pleasure, Miss…"

"Stokes. But please, call me Belle." She held out a hand for him to shake. He took it in his and kissed the back softly, deliberately.

"Can I buy you a drink, Belle?"

"That would be nice. Could I get a vodka with a splash of lime? Thank you." She smiled at the bartender, idly swirling her martini.

"It's a very pretty name, Belle. Doesn't it mean beautiful in Italian? It suits you very well." _Kiss ass._

"My mum _does_ have a thing with Italian things, pasta's a favourite in our household." She faked a giggle, rolling her eyes inside her head. "And is Julek a very Polish name?"

"Indeed." He nodded, taking his red wine and swirling the glass. "It is derived from Jupiter and it means love…"

"Oh my…" Natasha made herself blush, pretending to be struck back by his charm.

He wasn't _that _bad with her. In fact, he'd been smoother than most of the other marks in her history. His face was of the average Polish, short, dark hair, green eyes, a hint of stubble. She just preferred her men dead, with their necks twisted._ Save for one_.

"You're not from around here, are you? Your English is too perfect." He complimented her again, inching closer to her.

"American. Business trip to the conference." She lied, making sure that her accent doesn't slip. "Will I be seeing you there?"

"I'm afraid not… My company usually doesn't attend those sort of gatherings, although… I might have to make an exception for you." He breathed softly, looking into her eyes.

"You're flattering me!" Natasha looked to the side, shifting, faking a fluster. In the corner of her eye, she saw the bartender drop a small pill inside her drink. She looked at the man, taking her vodka without a hitch. "Thank you."

Natasha took a sip of it, sighing. It didn't taste any different to her regular drink. Any ordinary person would not have had a clue.

"Beautiful girls like you deserve to be flattered, and pampered, and _loved…_" Bilinski took a swig of his wine again._ He's waiting for the spike to kick in._

Natasha giggled, pretending that the alcohol was having an effect. "I like you…" She murmured as she placed a hand on his knee.

"I like you too, very much…" He used a hand to cup her elbow, taking the glass from her hand and placing it onto the bar. "You want to go somewhere so I can… _love you_?"

"Yes…" She slurred her words, gently closing her eyes and resting some of her weight in his arms. "I want you to kiss me all over… Will you do that for me?"

"I'll do anything for you." He whispered again, clutching her gently. "Come on, we'll find a room in the hotel upstairs."

"I have one. Room five one eight." She chuckled, kissing his neck. "Oh… I think I'm a bit tipsy."

"You're completely fine." He lied, pleased that the spike had worked so quickly. "Let's go to your room."

* * *

Clint heard their conversation. _All_ of their conversation. _Damned motherfucking warlord._ His jealousy washed over him without a hint on his smile. He was talking to the ladies who were groping him like hopeless whores. "Who want's a drink?" He laughed easily, raising his whiskey up. "To all you beautiful ladies."

The archer quickly slipped out of the crowd, tugging on his collar to make sure it was still straight. Natasha was right; the plain white, button up shirt and black dress pants really did the job. Heck, he didn't even have to wear a tie. With one finger, he flicked his mic back to life.

He made his way to room 618, walking to the balcony and gathering their equipments. The hook attached itself to the railing smoothly, he tugged on it twice to check it was secure. Putting on his gloves, Clint quickly slid down to the balcony on the floor below, hiding behind the wall.

As promised, Natasha had bought him some time, by walking slowly to the elevator and in the corridors. The man had his mouth everywhere, her neck, her mouth. His hands were grouping her breasts roughly. Natasha prayed that he wouldn't ruin the dress - she could keep it for another mission, seeing the effect it had.

She moaned into his touch, which frankly was disappointing. For a man with his charm, she expected a little more than barbaric, wet and amateur fondles. He was like a teenager being with a girl for the first time. Natasha walked to the room, pretending that she couldn't get the card in properly. He quickly snatched it from her hand and did it himself, almost throwing her into the room and shoved her against the wall.

Natasha made sure that the door was closed and locked, kissing him back, her body slightly limp. She bent down to take off her sandals, tossing them idly to the side as she walked to the bed. Bilinski followed behind her, watching her hips sway as his cock pulsed.

He wasn't the only one watching.

Clint was watching through the cameras, hidden in the corners of the room._ Damn, girl._ He chuckled to himself, almost jealous of the man. "Jesus, he's all over you."

_Shut your fucking mouth, Barton._ Natasha rolled her eyes as she sighed, working on the zipper of her dress. Julek covered her hands with his, tugging on the zip so it gave way. She quickly slid out of it, revealing her breasts and thong.

Julek almost ripped his pants when he saw them. "Belle, you are so beautiful." He whispered in a heavy accent.

"I want you…" She moaned as she used her hands to tease her nipples, moving onto the bed.

"I want you too, sexy." He chuckled, sliding his belt off and discarding his pants, tossing it to the floor. His hands moved up to grope her bare globes, kneading roughly.

"Oh, sweet Jesus!" She moaned out his cue once the threat was removed.

Clint moved swiftly inside the room, jabbing him in the shoulder with the tranquilliser as he smirked at Natasha. _About fucking time_. He let his eyes linger on her bare torso before hauling the man over to one side, binding his hands and feet with zip-ties. Given that they'd basically guaranteed a successful mission, he loosened up, sighing.

"Eyes, Barton. I see where you're looking." She hissed, half-amused that he looked at her so obviously. His pants were bulging too, so there was no question that he saw the entire thing.

"I'm a man, Romanoff." He wrinkled his nose. "He's not the only one."_ Stop right there, idiot._

"You're flirting with death."

"Aren't we all?" He chuckled, watching her as she pulled on her pants and bra and t-shirt.

"I swear to God, Barton." She growled, making a face. "I'll dig your eyes out with a spoon if I get the fucking chance."

"So harsh, Hotstuff." Clint laughed, making no move to cover his semi.

"Why didn't you poison him?" She asked, changing the subject, evidently annoyed by her nickname.

"Because, despite our orders, I think Fury would be far more impressed if we extracted information from him." Clint chuckled, flopping onto the bed. "He'll be up and going in around ten. You better gag him, too. Wouldn't want anyone else to know what we're about to do to him."

"I'll have to gag you, too." She scowled, shoving his underpants in his mouth. "If you don't shut your fucking mouth."

"That's borderline _kinky,_ partner." He chuckled again. He suppressed a gulp and flinch, although his forearms did tense.

The room felt hotter, like electricity was running through both of them. The longer her reply took, the hotter it felt. When Natasha thought the air was crackling, she finally gave her reply, hissing.

"Shut the fuck up."

She was hiding her amusement. No-one had dared talk back to her. Clint was the exception to every rule. He made her feel so at ease with everything - with SHIELD, with the mission, with him…with _herself._ Natasha was always one to worry, anxious little thing, he'd called her several times. There was an air to him that made her feel almost comfortable. And because of that, it was so frustrating to her. He was such an ass-clown, he even said so himself. In a way, however, Natasha appreciated it by throwing snide retorts at him.

The assassin bent down to pick up his phone, tossing it to Clint for him to check that there were no bugs - no way that they could be found out. She picked up his gun, smirking as she replaced it between his legs, pointing at his groin.

"Mmmph." Bilinski woke from the short-lived silence. "Mmmph!"

He took a look at the properly-dressed Natasha, his brows furrowing in confusion only to realise, seconds later, that he'd been played.

It was a look that Natasha was all too familiar with, a mark would expect to sleep with her, but only to their surprise, wake up naked, like an ass. Clint sat up, looking at the man amusedly. He enjoyed the look on their mark's face, eyes wide, pupils dilated in fear, underwear shoved in his mouth.

"You probably want to tell me the passcode to your server before I shoot your balls off." Natasha smirked, her chin lifting to motion to the gun. The man looked down, yelping immediately, struggling against the bonds in futility. "Passcode."

Bilinski shook his head, desperately yanking his arms and legs. "Mihshhhmphhh!"

"Oh well." Natasha faked a sigh. "Was worth a try."

Her hand reached to grab his gun, cocking it to load as she aimed at his groin. "Mpphhh, mmphh!"

"Looks like our boy over there has something to say." Clint laughed.

"The passcode. You scream or shout or give me the wrong passcode? I'll feed you your fucking balls and make sure you die in agony. Slowly." She smirked, removing the gun from him before taking his pants out.

"Tango, one, nine, charlie, golf, two, six." He recited, his voice shaking, tears of terror streaming down his face.

"You get that, Barton?" She looked back at her partner, shoving the pants back into his mouth.

"I'll try it now." He reached back to slide the bed-side drawer open, taking his laptop out and loading the security pathway. "How do you do this again? It's in Polish, I can't read Polish."

"You're hopeless." She chuckled. "You watch him, give me the laptop."

"Say the magic word." Clint raised an eyebrow at her, smiling to widely.

"Fuck you." She spat humourlessly, snatching the laptop and sitting next to him.

"You're no fun!" He looked over at her, still grinning.

"Watch him." She hissed.

"He's not going anywhere, Romanoff." Clint flopped back onto the bed, looking at the ceiling. "Say, d'you wanna get a drink before we meet up with Coulson?"

"Focus, Barton!" Natasha scolded, waving a hand dismissively. "Done."

"I was just enjoying myself." Clint said, sitting back up. "Get it to Fury via the encrypted network."

"I just did."

"Would you like to do the honours?" He chuckled as he walked over to the man.

"How should we do it?"

"Snap his neck. Throw his body over the building." He suggested.

"Sounds like a plan." She said, nodding, walking over to him.

Natasha eyed Clint once before rolling her eyes and reaching for the man's head, snapping his neck effortlessly. They cut the zip-ties together. Clint carried the man over his shoulders as Natasha took his legs, walking to the balcony. "Ready?" He asked. "One, two, three."

They swung their arms together, releasing his body and watched as he dropped with a loud crack. "Let's get the hell out of here."

**~End of Chapter~**

_A/N: Thank you for reading! Please (as always), review and favourite and share this around (:_

_As you might have noticed, I put an "inspiration" section under the AN (a few of you have requested this!) I've fixed my mac! I took it to the apple store and the guy ran multiple checks, telling me that my keyboard was screwed up and it would cost me $285 USD to fix it. So, I told him to wipe the drive and reset it (I backed everything up). Took it home then pried the shift key a bit. Worked for a while. Then pried it out completely, cleaning out the dogfur stuck between the three connection points. Worked its magic (:_

A big thank you for those who've reviewed so far, you guys rock: Pepperony Shipper, sv4me, paintallthestuff, ShadowBeats22107 , Nova Fearnewood , Torti Quercu , and avengingwolves. If you have the time, just drop a comment. I'm eternally grateful for it~

_Really hope you enjoyed it (: xx_

_Inspiration: Nothing in particular (maybe MI4), but this chapter was modified from one of my previous fics, under the same name._


	4. Boys' Night Out

**Everybody Deserves A Second Chance**

**Chapter 4**

**August 18th, 2006**

"Good week, huh?" Phil patted Clint on the back when he joined him. He was already on his whiskey.

"Yeah…" He huffed, smirking. "And your's?"

"Still the same. You know; paperwork." He chuckled. "Who's idea was it to put the Ukrainian idiot's hair and fingerprints all over the hotel room?"

"It was actually Natasha's. Clever thing."

"Saved us a lot of shit."

"What can I say? She gets the job done…" Clint took a swig of his whiskey. "Besides… she has a beautiful cleavage."

"Clinton…"

"What? I'm just saying!" He chuckled. "This rounds on me."

Phil knew there was something wrong. Clint looked more solemn about this matter than he did most things. He cared about Natasha, and he needed to make it work. Clint made the order with the bartender. Just the usual. He always had a whiskey before he is beers. Phil took a bud-light.

"You seem to be out more than usual."

"Ha!" Phil chuckled. "I was wondering when you'd ask. I met this lovely girl… she's a cellist."

"A cellist?" Clint raised an eyebrow, raising the bottle in his hand to toast him. "Score!"

"Yeah, a cellist. Wonderful, wonderful personality. She's pretty, too." Phil nodded as he pursed his lips. "She even invited me to one of her performances. It was amazing. Whatever she sees in me, man, whatever she sees in me."

"Don't say that, man. You're a great guy! I can testify to that." Clint crossed his heart with his two fingers.

"And you? You obviously like Natasha a lot." Phil smiled supportively at Clint.

"Aw, man! That obvious, huh?" Clint shrugged. "But, I mean, who doesn't?"

"Even Maria agrees. Since when did the Hawk work with a partner? A _partner_." Phil said. "You didn't even put up too much of a fight with Fury!"

"She's really skilled. She's relentless. She's my type of girl." Clint sighed. "For one reason or another, she seems to trust me."

"You saved her life."

Clint paused for a second, scratching his head and taking a big gulp of his beer. "Fury's gonna have my balls if he hears about this."

"Oh, I think Fury knows." Phil raised an eyebrow at Clint as he gulped down the rest of his beer, ordering another whiskey with his Guinness. "You're not exactly hiding your feelings, Clint."

"I know."

"How is Natasha feeling about this?"

"I don't know."

"Talk to her about it."

"What? No! Are you crazy? _Talk_ to her about it? Talk to _her_ about it? No! Why?" Clint quickly made a face, dismissing the idea.

"Why not?"

"The thing is, Phil; I don't know if I can. Yes - I saved her life. Yes - she seems to trust me more than you lot, but… There's just… A boundary. I can't. I can't cross it. I can't expect her to feel what I feel after what she's been through."

"She's human. You said it yourself." Phil sighed. "Clint. You _coward_. You can't just assume that she doesn't feel. You of all people know that she's human too."

"I know, buddy. I know. I sympathise." He nodded.

"Do you love her?" Phil asked.

Clint nearly spat out his drink.

"What? No! Well, I don't think so. Right now, the feelings have been contained to my cock, but you know." He gulped. "I can't guarantee it won't spread to my brain and… heart, if I have one. It's a growing problem."

"Love should never be a problem. Love is just a leap of faith you're not willing to take yet. You're scared to ask her about how she feels because you have an ego. You don't wanna get crushed. If she rejects you, you don't know what to do." Phil explained, sighing. "You've always been a ladies' man, Clint. You know you work your magic. You know exactly how to do it. Now you've met your match. Before you say anything, Clint - love comes in different forms. One might argue that _we_ share a love. Frankly, I think it's what keeps us going. You and Natasha, on the other hand..."

"Exactly." Clint huffed. "What if that ruins our partnership?"

"I think she likes you too… Not _as_ explicitly as you, but… It's a love-hate." Clint patted him. "Come on! The Black Widow yielding to your bow and arrow and heartfelt words? That should mean something."

"We barely talk about anything other than missions and fighting and that stuff. She doesn't seem to have a life outside of espionage, you know?"

"You play the guitar, you sing, very well, I should add. That's not until you joined SHIELD. Give her some time… She might need longer than you, after all that… brainwashing."

"Are you saying she's even more fucked up than me?"

"You're both equally as fucked up. Just in different ways. You have memory of your parents, your brother, the circus. You have things that are close to heart to lose. She had her country, her mentors, and I doubt she remembers anything beyond that. And we've basically ripped it all from her."

"Huh…" He hummed.

"It'll take a while for you to be on the same page, I'll give you that. But, Clint… I don't know. She'll either make you a better man, or the worst you'll ever be."

* * *

The pair spent the rest of the night watching NFL on the TV in the corner of the bar. By midnight, he'd had 6 whiskeys, 5 beers and 2 shots, and counting, pondering the older man's words. The archer was intoxicated and had lost the ability to stand up straight. Phil helped him onto a taxi as they made their way back to Clint's apartment. He dumped him onto the bed and took out an aspirin from his bedside table, placing it next to his alarm clock.

"Sleep well, buddy. Don't think about it too much." He turned off the lights and left for his own apartment.

* * *

Clint woke up to the buzzing of his alarm with an intense throbbing in his head. He squinted his eyes as he shook it off. Obviously, he's had too much to drink and Phil took him back to his place. He popped the aspirin before making a phone call.

"You know, you should thank me instead of just laughing into the microphone." Phil chuckled into the phone, already back at work in HQ.

"You shoulda just left me to rot on the street." Clint returned a similar chuckle. "Thanks, buddy."

**~End of Chapter~**

_A/N: Thank you for reading! Please (as always), review and favourite and share this around (:_

_Okay! This was a short chapter, so I'm gonna upload the next one on FRIDAY! (:_

_Really hope you enjoyed it (: xx_

_Inspiration: H50 "McDanno" moments. (EHEHEHHEHEHE)_


	5. Entertainment

**Chapter 5**

**Everybody Deserves A Second Chance**

Clint saw the streak of light widen. "You can come in."

Natasha stepped into his dark room. He was sat on his bed with a few sheets. "Coulson told me you were being sent somewhere."

"France. Need to snipe an idiot before he makes a mess of the financial world." Clint shrugged as he watched her.

"What's that?"

"A phone." Patting the little black object, he slid it back into his pocket.

"No, the papers."

"Oh." He looked at them blankly. "They're nothing."

"Can I sit on your bed?"

"I'm not stopping you."

Natasha walked towards him and gently sat down. The bed barely shifted against her.

"Will you be gone for long?"

"Who knows, depends how - why do you ask?" Clint furrowed his brows.

"With you gone, I'll probably be sat in an office somewhere. Just not out in the fields. You know I hate that." _Liar. You want to know because you enjoy his company. _

"Not for long." He tried to stifle the hurt in his voice. "You'll survive without me."

The pair stared into the darkness, trying to comprehend the magnitude of his words. Maybe he didn't mean it that way, but Natasha couldn't help but feel a little sting in her heart. "I wouldn't have, without you."

"I'm going back to base at midnight." He stood up and flicked the switch on his wall. "It's six. I still have time to kill. We can order Chinese?"

"Chinese sounds good." Her fingers hovered over the sheets. "These are… guitar music."

"I figured." He said as he flopped back on the bed.

"But you don't have a guitar around."

"It's been with someone else for a while, though I doubt he'll be able to fix it."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"What's the point of having music around when you don't have an instrument to play with?"

"I hear it in my head. It's all in here."

"What happened to your guitar?"

"Life happened."

"There's more to it than that."

"Life? I don't think so."

"Fine. You don't want to talk about it. I get it."

"Do you play instruments?"

"Not really."

"Do you do anything… recreational? Entertaining?"

"Knife-throwing's pretty entertaining." Natasha shrugged.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

"I… I used to do ballet when I was in the Black Widow programme. It was a coverup for what we were really doing."

"Do you like it?"

"I guess I did, but I haven't gotten a chance to relive those moments. I guess they were happier times when I was young." She sighed._ Why are you telling him this?_ "That, and the puppet."

"Puppet?"

"I had a puppet in my room up till the point that they removed me from my room and put me in solitary."

Clint felt his heart sink._ She's telling you about the past._ He sat up to sit with her on the edge of his bed.

After a few minutes, Natasha looked to him and smiled. "What happened to Chinese?"

_Are you there? - NR_

_Answer my texts. - NR_

_Coulson's been injured - NR._

_He's being transferred to the med wing right now. - NR_

_Doctors say he'll be okay, but he looks pretty shit right now. - NR_

His phone buzzed a few times in his pocket before stopping. Clint was perched up on a roof with a rifle aimed at the bald sleezebag. The moment he set foot onto the balcony would be the moment he blew his brains out.

After Clint was clear that the strawberry jam on the wall confirmed his death, he fished out his phone and read the messages.

_What the fuck? - CB_

_He ran into a gang of people that was trying to rape a girl. - NR_

_There were at least 7 of them. - NR_

_Fucking idiot. Always trying to be a hero. - CB_

_How is he doing anyway? - CB_

_Well. He put up quite a fight against the 7, considering that they were quite a bit younger and bigger. - NR_

_Big doesn't mean good. Phil's good. - CB_

_Apparently not enough for 7 people. - NR_

_You texted me when I was about to blow my mark's head off. - CB_

_Am I supposed to apologise? - NR_

_Just thought I'd put it out there. - CB_

Next thing he knew, he was on a jet back to New York.

"I don't understand." Clint tossed his keys on to the drawer next to the door. "Why did you decline the offer to your own apartment?"

"It was illogical." She sighed. "I assume you've already been to med wing."

"He _was_ pretty badass when he told me the story. Pity I have no-one to drink with for the next… few weeks."

"Who said that you had no-one to drink with?"

"My, Romanoff. Living up to the stereotype, aren't we?"

Natasha smirked as he joined her on the sofa with a cold beer in his hand and a cup of water in her face.

"What's illogical, again?"

"The fact that they want me to get that shitty place." She replied easily. "I thought it'd be left in a better shape."

"The last agent _did_ commit suicide."

"Well, it made more sense to… save space. I'm glad you didn't take it the wrong way when I asked if I could stay with you."

"Oh, trust me, I did at first. But then you gave me the death-glare, so I stopped."

"Death-glare, huh? It's not like you don't have enough space."

"We're barely home much, too."

"I don't have a home." She spit cooly.

"That's not true."

"Yeah, where is it? Where is my home?" She glared at him, cheeks growing red as she covered up her anger.

"Here." He gulped.

"You think I call this a home? I've barely been here a year, I live with a man who checks out my ass when I bend to get a beer and everyone still stares at me."

"You _do_ have a killer ass."

"Shut the fuck up, Barton."

"Don't try and pretend that you don't check me out, too."

"When have I ever?"

"Pretended? Why, that's your field of expertise!"

"No, checked you out?"

"Easy. Every time I come back from the gym, you let your eyes linger a bit too long." He flashed her his white teeth.

_Shit. He noticed. _"You never said anything about it."

"You never said anything about me checking out your ass, either. Not until now. Besides, why do you _think_ I put them so low anyway?"

"Pervert."

"All men are."

"Hm. That's true." She half-smiled. "But that doesn't mean I won't kick your ass the next time you do."

"And what do I do the next time _you_ check me out?"

"Nothing. You like it. It boosts your self esteem."

"Even so. Doesn't make it right."

"Haven't you been in the game long enough that you know that it's not about right and wrong?"

"It almost never is."

"How was the mission?"

"You're giving me the look."

"What look."

"_The _look. Well, one of many looks."

"They're called facial expressions, Barton. Normal."

"No, you're giving me _the_ look, which means that you're genuinely annoyed about something."

_Dammit._

"How do you know?"

"It's different from the one you normally put on when you're pretending to be genuinely annoyed about something."

_Double dammit._

"I hate it when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Notice things."

"I'm trained to notice things."

"I know, so am I."

"Then why are you pissed at me?"

"Because I can't seem to get a read on you."

"Oh."

"One minute you're one thing, then the next? You're another."

"That frustrates you?"

"That was more a statement than a question."

"True... Are you sure you want to kick my ass next time I check you out?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because right now, I can see that you're wearing a very sexy black bra when I look down your tank. Calvin Klein?"

"Shut the_ fuck_ up!" Natasha growled before smacking him over the head with a tightly clenched fist.

**~End of chapter~**

_AN: I really liked it... thought it was cute (: This one was kinda short, too, so look forward to the update on Monday._

Thank you for reading - please favourite/follow and REVIEW!

Inspiration: I Get Weak - Westlife.


	6. Get It Out Of Your System

**Chapter 6**

**Everybody Deserves A Second Chance**

"You think it makes a difference to me that you're pretty?" Clint huffed out as he threw a punch at her face, which she expertly dodged. "I'm not going to go easy on you, Romanoff. Not after what you did last time."

"You mean the time that I kicked your ass so hard that you landed in hospital for the night?"

"It was you and your dirty Russian fighting."

"Who told you that I played fair?"

"Good point." Clint dodged one of her roundhouse kicks. "Woah, woah woah! Get that knife out of my face! You're going to seriously injure me, sooner or later."

"If I wanted to hurt you, you'd already be in hospital."

"NO knives!"

"MY rules! You're the one who dragged me here to spar." She smirked with a glint in her eyes.

"Fucking hell, Romanoff. I was bored." Clint muttered as he disarmed her. Natasha had prepared for this, another knife showed up in her hands. "FUCKING DAMMIT."

Although Clint was roaring at her, there was a smile on his face.

"You like this! You like a good challenge, and you like that _I'm_ the one who's giving you the challenge."

"I still need my face for missions, maniac!"

"Of course, it_ must_ be your dashingly good looks that complete missions."

The archer stopped dead in his tracks. "What?"

Natasha saw the chance and tackled him to the floor.

Of course, Clint had _intended_ to let her do that.

"You heard me."

"Are you admitting that you think I'm good looking?"

Almost instantly, her face was flushed with a red that she couldn't even suppress.

"Naw, Tasha, You flatter me."

With one, smooth motion, Clint pushed up and rolled over. His knees landed either side of her hips and his hands on his shoulder, pinning her with his weight.

Her pupils were dilated, lips slightly parted, skin flushing a brilliant red.

Natasha Romanoff was _aroused._

Yes - he could smell it. Lingering amidst the endorphins and adrenaline was a scent of… He didn't know what it was. He just knew that he could never miss it.

Her red hair was sprayed across the mat, the tips damp with her sweat.

How long have they been sparring?

Who knows?

And he was directly on her, his skin on her skin. Fingertips touching her smooth shoulders. Blood pumping. He could almost hear the rush of blood in his groin.

_Thud. Thud._

Her heart was beating loudly, too.

Natasha noticed his adam's apple move. Every vein on his neck, every pore, every bead of sweat that was trickling down his skin. The ocean of his eyes staring back at her with the same expression - the same feeling that the two have been avoiding, or rather, dismissing.

_Mutual attraction_.

Whether it was sexual, physical, cognitive attraction, it didn't matter.

_It was there._

_And it was there to stay._

Her breath hitched in her throat. She never wanted more to kiss him than now. Maybe she didn't pay attention before, but she saw a faint line on his lower lip. What looked like an old cut that faded over time. The line appeared a dimmed white on his dark pink lips. _Damn, she wanted to bite those lips._

"Uh… Barton?" A familiar voice interrupted their… moment.

"Jones." Clint finally said, after a second. If he was annoyed, he hid it well. He climbed off of Natasha, standing up and brushing his clothes straight, he finally looked to the small huddle of people that were originally working out, but instead, stopped to watch their sparring. "Can I help you?"

"No. Uh… How should I put this?" It was evident that he was trying to hold in a laugh. Key word being 'trying'. "...Agent Romanoff sliced your pants open."

As Clint looked down, he saw the gigantic hole along his right inner thigh. With open jaws, he looked at Natasha in disbelief while everyone in the room - apart from him - doubled down in laughter.

* * *

The pair walked back to their apartment in complete silence. Save for the short-lived half-discussion.

"Are we going to talk about - " Clint began to ask.

"No."

* * *

"Where are all the criminals!?"

"You've killed them all." Clint joked as he rubbed his head with a towel as he stepped into the living room.

"Stop coming out of the shower like that." Natasha scolded.

"What, with a towel around my waist?"

"Precisely."

"I've always done that."

"Well, stop it."

"It never bothered you before."

"It does now."

"God, you are difficult, Romanoff."

And he knew the exact reason. She didn't want to be tempted, not after what happened with their last spar.

In fact, she had refused to spar with him after that.

For the past week, all that was on Natasha's mind was how good he smelled when he was on top of her. He was sweating and smelled like it but there was also that unmistakable hint of… him.

The more she pushed the thought away, the more it came back to haunt her.

It came to her in her dreams, when they replaced her nightmares. She thought it was a good thing, but then it just bugged her. Natasha realised that somehow, it was even worse. It was just the fire that wouldn't extinguish, no matter what she did.

It came to a point where she read a _book._

God, she hated books. She had her fill in Russia, being locked up in a room with a pile of boring history books. The ones that she liked were normally the ones which involved instructions of how to kill, although she already knew it like the back of her hand.

The book didn't help.

Maybe if she took a cold shower.

But there were only so many cold showers one cold take before they got sick of them.

So it was a relief for her when Fury sent them their next mission.

Or so she thought.

**~End of chapter~**

_AN: Thank you for reading! As always, please review, review and review! This was a short one as well (but really fun to write), so again, I'll update on Friday (: xx_

_Inspiration: Warning Sign - Coldplay_


	7. Killing Time

**Everybody Deserves a Second Chance**

**Chapter 7**

Of all the time to have a tropical storm, this had to be it? They were on their mission in the Philippines… everything went smoothly and they were waiting for Phil to pick them up. And then this shit of a storm kicks in and apparently will be going on for at least another seven hours before the chopper can fly safely.

It was a mess in the safe-house… Windows were boarded and doors were locked.

It was _hot._

It was at least thirty fucking degrees celsius and man, Clint couldn't take it anymore. He slipped off his shirt as he laid on the single bed.

Yes. A single bed.

Again.

Couldn't SHIELD afford _two_ single beds? Not even bunk beds? With the funding they're given, they'd at least be able to afford a _bunk_ bed. Nah… SHIELD didn't give a shit. Clearly this was an old bed that the previous owner left when they bought the place.

The good news was; Natasha trusted Clint more, now. She was growing warmer and warmer, getting familiar to his gentle touch and gruff voice.

Didn't mean that she liked it though.

But at least she didn't look as if she was going to kill him every time their skin met.

Maybe on a few occasions when Clint 'accidentally' touched her ass.

The assassin looked at her shirtless partner tossing around on the bed.

_Damn, he's sexy._ Ever since the sparring, she had avoided physical contact as much as possible, but now he looked so _damned_ good. Sweat glistening, muscles bulging, as it to invite her over to lick him.

_Dammit, Clint._ She cursed under her breath.

But, unlike her, all Clint could think about was how fucking_ hot _it was. It was humid and the wind had knocked over an electricity pole or some shit like that and there was _nothing._ Man, not even a fucking fan, let alone air conditioning. Sweat just poured out of his skin, and he had given up trying to wipe it away. Even the water coming from the taps came out luke warm and he was just _disgusted _by the heat and humidity.

Natasha had a relatively easier time. She was used to these extreme conditions; back in Russian, it was extremely cold. And as for hot, she was once sent to the middle of the Indonesian forests, sleeping on the floor in a cave God knows where. This was pretty tame.

Except for the fact that Clint was there, and boy, was he distracting. All she wanted to do was pounce on him, rip off his pants and fuck the living daylights outta him.

Clint noticed that Natasha was staring… She was always staring. But then again, she never stared at him like he was a piece of good chocolate.

He sat up and stared back at her in the same fashion.

_What you gonna do, Romanoff?_ He smirked. Her lips were slightly parted, breath hitched and she was sweating a lot as well.

A lot like what he saw with the sparring.

_Shit… He's staring back at you._ He motioned for her to come sit next to him. The mattress shifted against her weight with an ugly creak from the old springs.

"You keep staring at me." Clint muttered. Natasha stayed silent and kept her face straight, but she was clearly embarrassed. He could tell from her tell-tale blush. "Is there something you want to talk to me about?"

Natasha ignored his question for a while.

But one could only run away from the problem for so long before running out of breath.

"Fine." She finally gave up on putting up her barriers and decided that honesty was, in fact, the best policy. "I think you're very attractive. It's distracting when you take off your shirt. You've been doing it much more so after the sparring… A girl can imagine." She spat.

"You've been flaunting your legs and occasionally your ass and cleavage. Now, you know how I feel." Clint smiled gently. "You don't have to imagine."

"What do you mean I don't have to imagine?"

The archer brought his hand up to her face as he tilted her head, ready to kiss her. "If you don't stop me, I'm going to kiss you."

She didn't stop him.

Their lips met swiftly. And then she attacked him, her tongue fighting for dominance. She leaned on him until his back was flat on the bed. She straddled him as she greedily tasted his mouth. He looked at her as she caught her breath, almost ripping her clothes off.

Her perfect breasts were directly in front of him… She was full and round and it was so fucking seductive. His hand came up to grasp her unconsciously, groping her firmly, sliding his digits over her smooth skin. She gave him a small moan as he kissed her neck. He unsheathed his teeth from his lips as he nipped her gently.

With a familiar touch, his hand reached around her back and unclasped her bra, letting her breasts spring free. By now, his erection was digging into her inner thigh. It was only a matter of time before she would be over him.

Out of instinct, she gyrated her hips when she felt him pulse. He groaned in return. Swiftly, he turned them around. Her legs were either side of his waist, clinging to him with his erection prodding into her pubic mound.

Natasha didn't waste another moment. She ran her fingers along his chest, his side, enjoying the sensation of the texture of his muscles on her fingertips. His skin was amp and hot and sticky and he smelt so good. He smelled like sweat and musk. The pure scent of masculinity. Her fingers slid under his waistbands of his pants as she tugged to show that she wanted them off. Clint grinned at her slyly as he covered her hands with his.

"You want these off?" He asked darkly. She nodded. "Okay."

He removed himself from her, stepping onto the ground as he shook off his pants.

Natasha shed her clothes on the bed, arching herself and lifting her hips away from the sheets as she reached down to slide off her pants. She was wearing simple, seamless black panties that clung onto her skin so well.

_Damn._

Clint smacked his lips as he grinned. He couldn't wait to taste her. His erection sprang free directly in front of her face. The tip glistened with pre-come and his cock twitched a little every time his heart pulsed.

She took him in her mouth, kissing and savouring his saltiness. Her tongue swirled around the tip of his cock. At first, he felt the roughness of her taste-buds… And then it turned into the exquisite smoothness of the underside of her tongue. She extracted a moan from him as she continued to suck, hollowing her cheeks.

Natasha's curves were all the more obvious with her lying on the bed on her side, the peaks of her hips and the valley that was her waist. Her nipples were pink and inviting his touch. She took him deeper as she sheathed her teeth beneath her lips and sucked.

"God, Tasha." He grunted as he grasped her hair behind her head. His fingers tugged on the roots of her dark red hair as he brought her closer. _Damn… She's good._

But she was Natasha Romanoff, and she would continue to exceed his expectations. He hit the back of her throat as he thrust and she only gagged a little before looking up to him, smiling, then continuing to pleasure him.

Her mouth was warm and smooth and soft on his bulging cock and he couldn't resist the temptation to push her closer until her nose was buried in his pubic hair._ God dammit, woman._ He'd already half-forgotten about the heat in the room, because the one in his gut was ripping through his body. Her mouth left him suddenly to gasp for breath. A single strand of the mixture of her saliva and his pre-come connected her upper lip to his tip.

"Mm…" She licked it off as she swallowed it.

"Taste nice?" Clint stroked her hair slowly.

"Mhm." Natasha almost hummed.

"My turn." Clint smiled.

"What? No!"

"Why not?"

"Because!"

"That's not going to make the cut."

"We're not supposed to be doing this."

"And yet here we are, you're half naked on the bed and my cock in your face."

He walked to the end of the bed while he ran his hand along her smooth legs and peeled off her panties. He brought her thighs either side of his shoulders, despite her futile, half-hearted protest.

"If you really wanted to fight me, Natasha, I would have my neck twisted already."

And he was _right_.

As much as it appeared to be untrue, Natasha wanted him to do it. She didn't give a shit about SHIELD regulations. She wanted his mouth on her… But it was the physical repulsion of the act. She'd had to endure her mark's filthy mouth on her far too many times.

Clint blew a hot breath on her sex. She bucked as she felt the warmth there. He kissed her everywhere. Everywhere except the place she needed it the most.

Her hand threaded through his short hair as she grasped him and pulled him towards the apex of her thighs. "You want me there?"

"Yes, Clint." She pleaded. "God, yes!" She moaned as she arched himself into his mouth. He was sucking on her clit, his tongue flickering on her skin. He hummed, the small tingles in his tongue torturing her and teasing her.

"Fuck!" She hissed. Natasha raked her nails along his neck and on his scalp as she gasped in pleasure.

His mouth left her for a short moment as he whispered darkly. "I'm going to make you come now."

And suddenly, he was everywhere; nipping, tongue thrashing and sucking on her swollen clit. Natasha bit her lip as she tried to contain herself - the familiar metallic tang of blood flushed through her mouth as her teeth nipped the inside of her lip. She melted, muscles quivering as she tried to control it, her body betraying her as a hiss escaped through her swollen lips.

She fell apart on his mouth, moaning and gasping his name. A burst of pleasure exploded in her belly, inside her, outside her, until her every pore felt it. Her shoulders twitched, and _God_, she couldn't even care less if people would hear them.

"Clint…" Her hips bucked into him as he kept licking. When she finally calmed down from her screaming, her body was limp and there was a gentle smile plastered across her face.

His mouth left her wetness when he knelt up between her. His cock bobbed slightly as he moved, but he was pulsing and hard as ever. There were very few people who saw her like this, in fact, he doubted if there was _anyone_ who had. He had learnt, through their partnership, that Natasha only used sex as a last resort. Even then, she would never allow herself more than 5 minutes to finish the job, let alone pleasure. So, when her pale, tiny body was spread across the bed, relaxed and limp, he let himself savour the sight.

Natasha knew that Clint was watching, as always. She let her eyes relax and close, she let herself imagine his eyes feasting on her bare body. Her right hand slid alined her slide lazily and eventually cupped her breast, slowly kneading and pinching. Tiny jolts of pleasure zapped through her. She smiled. And then she frowned.

_What was this?_

Sex was no stranger to Natasha. From a young age, she had been taught and trained to use sex as a weapon, and nothing more than that. But after each time, after people touched her, groped her, used her as a fucktoy, it only left her feeling digested and sick to her stomach. She would fuck for the job, yes. But in a sense, it was volunteering herself for rape.

So, what was this pleasure she felt with Clint?

She had tried to take care of her needs so many times before. And last week, every single night before she went to bed. She'd imagine herself in bed with Clint as they fucked, rough and hard. That got her closer to pleasure than anything else.

But that never did him justice.

Because just now, she had her first, proper orgasm. Never before, did she feel the buzz, the tingle, the waves of pleasure crashing through her. The spasms of her muscles, the colours swimming in her mind - it was no longer just red. It was like she'd just seen a kaleidoscope. And she wanted more of it. It was like a drug. _He _was like her drug.

"Want you." Natasha purred as she brought her legs up and placed the soles of her feet flat on his abdomen.

Clint thought he'd never live to the day that he'd hear her say that.

"Yeah?" He chuckled as he swept her feet up tother, placing her ankles on his right shoulder and running his left hand along her long, smooth legs. Natasha wiggles against the bed.

"That tickles!" She giggled as his fingers brushed across her outer thugs. "Get on with it, Barton."

"Getting impatient?" Clint groaned as he shuffled his knees closer to her ass as he leaned the weight of his upper body onto her legs. Natasha bent without a hitch. As expected of a ballerina. "Are you clean?"

"You only ask me now?" She raised an eyebrow. Clint still waited for an answer. "Yes, I'm clean. I have an IUD. Serum prevents the viruses and most of the infections. Are you?"

"I'm clean. Do you want me to use a - "

"Stop talking. Just get on with it." The assassin half growled.

Clint smirked as his hands left her legs to position himself at her opening. He slowly pushed into her, but she no longer felt like he was violating her. He was touching her in the most intimate way that she had ever felt. A small tremor ran through her as she felt him pulse inside her. _God._ He was big and firm and long, and when he finally buried himself to the hilt, Natasha cried out his name.

"Clint, oh!" She moaned as her fingers raked across the sheets. She bit her lip to stop herself from blurting out a plea. Her hips slowly bucked against him, silently begging him to move.

And Clint was only to happy to comply.

He grabbed her legs as he forced himself down onto her, deeper into her buttery velvet. He grunted as he pulled his hips away, only to slam into her more relentless and forceful than ever. He began his persistent rhythm, his thighs tapping her ass and his balls slapping against her with every thrust. He saw himself in her eyes, overwhelmed by lust and flooded with desire.

Her pleasure built up almost too quickly. Clenching onto the sheets, she moaned as he rode her. Her body squeezed around him involuntarily and she pulsed and gripped him.

"God, Tash." He growled. "You're so tight."

His thumb touched her clit, the rough pad pressing firmly on her throbbing flesh.

That was her undoing.

For the second time that afternoon, Natasha came. Her hips undulated beneath him, meeting him thrust for thrust. Her mind wandered far way, the colours of the clouds flashing before her as she screamed.

As she was convulsing around him, Clint held her close, brought his arms to her shoulders and pressed onto her so she folded neatly as she bucked. His pounding only prolonged her pleasure, and fuck, Natasha swore that she was_ floating_.

At least it felt like it.

Once she finally stilled, his weight pressed against her legs. She panted, trying to keep up with him, and moved her legs so they were curled against her chest as she laid on her side.

"Good?" He grinned.

"I've had better." She smirked.

"Liar. _Really?_" Clint chuckled as he flopped beside her.

"No, not really. Just teasing." Natasha laughed.

"The sex makes you happy. It's good to see you smile, Tasha. A real, genuine smile. Not the bullshit that you put up as a defence mechanism. We should do this more often so I see more of them." Natasha brushed him away idly. "But right now, my cock is throbbing and not all that happy that you left me hanging."

Natasha got on her hands and knees and spun herself so that she hovered above him. He'd seen that look before.

The look she uses to seduce her marks.

And it works.

The slightly parted lips and puckered cheeks with a naughty smile plastered on her face. She began to dance, her hips moving in small circles and gyrating on his pubic bone. His cock nestles between her ass, pre-come leaking and glistening on her skin.

"Like this?" She murmured huskily.

"I need to be in you." Clint grunted as he threw his head back onto the pillow. "Tasha, _now!_"

When she knew that she got him desperate, she smiled and ran a hand down his chest.

"Patience…" She rolled onto her heels, feet either side of him, giving him the best view of her ample breasts and dripping sex. With a sly grin, she ran a hand through her burning red hair.

"Tasha!" Clint growled as he brought his knees up and slid back on the bed. Natasha's back was pressed against the front of his thighs, her wetness flowing onto his cock and her hands on his shoulders. Her fingers brushed his scars gently, her eyes on his body, like she was inspecting his past.

Almost too desperately, Clint grabbed himself and shoved into her. She rocked onto him, the coarse hair on his legs tickling the sensitive skin on her lower back. "Jesus, Natasha, you feel so damned_ good._"

Natasha groaned in response. Her words came out as a purr. "You're so deep this way, God…"

"Yeah?" Clint growled again. "Can you feel me?"

"Yes… Yes!" Natasha kept pulsing, squeezing him, milking him of his passion. "Yes!"

Clint was known for his stamina. They had time to kill. _You have the time to make her come until her knees are weak and feel non-existent._ He gripped onto her waist, forcing her to arch her back and fall into his touch. "Oh, God, Clint. That's it!" She squeaked weakly. "That's the spot, right there!"

Her voice was laced with need and desperation, just clinging to the brink of reality with half of her in the clouds. His cock throbbed against her, the spongy spot inside her, he rubbed against her, grinding into her clit, revelling in her scent and her sex.

"Yes… Yes.." Natasha whispered between breaths. "I'm almost there…"

She hated the fact that he reduced her to this - a puddle of desire, longing for release. All of her control just spontaneously dissolving because of one man's touch. "Please make me come, Clint…"

He took her nipple into his mouth, nipping and sucking on her tender flesh and hummed. Clint tightened his grip on her, driving in and out of her relentlessly. He was beginning to identify those tell-tale signs of her rush. Her fingers would clench anything she could find, her breath would quicken, she would squeal and moan so beautifully, and she would pulse around him.

"Yes, Tasha, you're so beautiful when you come for me." He whispered between kisses. "Don't hold back, baby."

The way the pet name tumbled out of his mouth sent her over the edge.

_Baby… Baby…_ His voice echoed in what was left of her mind as she spiralled downwards. Her hands searched for something desperately, hips bucking as she called out his name. Her eyes shut tight as her hips bucked frantically agains him, rubbing herself onto him in every way that she could.

Clint held her tight as she convulsed around him. He loved the way she whispered his name - normally it would be a crisper, harsher sound. But her pleasure made her lose it. Lost control of herself, lose the barriers, the games that she played, the fights, the denial… She was truly herself. For the first time, 'Clint' was a slurred word, plaided with passion and heat. And he too, found himself on the edge. Just a few more thrusts and he would lose it, too.

"Natasha, I'm going to come soon." His words came out as a strangled croak, deeper and huskier than usual.

Natasha rode out the wakes of pleasure. Her muscles contracted violently, squeezing his cock. Clint tried to restrain himself, holding her still as she milked him. He just held her, not needing to move or thrust.

He just wanted to hold her, to have her sweat drip onto his skin and her wetness and scent linger over him.

He just wanted to have her to himself.

Just as Clint closed his eyes to take in that feeling, Natasha removed herself from him.

"What - Tash - I - "

He was silenced with her mouth on his cock. He grunted loudly, threading his hands through her hair and pushing her down. The assassin sucked, bobbing her head up and down as she tasted herself mixed with his desire, gently grazing her teeth along his shaft. She relaxed her throat, taking his as deep as she could and let him slide into her. Her nose was touching his pubic mound, the hairs softly tickling her.

"Tasha… I, I-I I'm gonna come soon." Clint huffed.

She hummed, enhancing his pleasure. His balls tightened against him, his fingers gripping her harder and his hips bucked against her. He fucked her mouth, thrusting three, last times before he found his release.

With his head thrown back, he sprayed his hot seed in her mouth, the tang of saltiness combined with musk and cream collected on her tongue as she continued to lick him.

He finally pulled out of her, looking at her with a gentle smile as he came down from the clouds. A sudden and closing spurt of his passion gushed onto her face, landing on her cheek and the side of her lips. A smug smile spread across their faces. Clint brushed his come off her face, but Natasha reached forward and licked it off his thumb.

"I like the way you taste." She whispered quietly.

"That's very sweet." He hushed as he laid back on the bed, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. "Dammit, Tasha."

"Hm?"

"I haven't come like that in a long, long time." Clint chuckled. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Natasha said quietly.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Liar. Something's wrong. You just don't want to tell me."

"It's fine, Clint. I'm fine."

"You really don't want to tell me?"

Natasha avoided his eyes as she sighed. "I-I… N-I've never come before."

"What?"

"I-I've…"

"I heard you. How is that even possible? You're twenty five! You're telling me that that was your first orgasm?"

Natasha nodded silently.

"Do you not masturbate?"

_Damn Americans. Discussing sex so openly._ "I tried once or twice. But it never worked."

"No wonder you looked so confused and flustered."

"Oh…Has the storm passed yet?"

Clint went silent for a minute. "I think this is the eye. It'll roughly be another three or four hours before Phil can pick us up."

"What are we going to do about this…?"

"What, our fucking?"

She gulped.

"If SHIELD finds out, Fury'll sack us. Both of us."

"We'll worry about that later, but right now, we have time to kill."

"You promise this stays between us?"

"Why would I tell anyone?"

"Not even Phil."

"… Alright."

"Promise me that this is it, that we're - "

"Only going to fuck for fun. Yes. I know. No strings attached, Yadee yadah. I've heard it all."

"Yes. You alright with that?"

"Yes."

Natasha could've sworn she saw his eye twitch.

* * *

"Something's off." Coulson muttered to Maria Hill after the pair left the room.

"Why'd you say?" She furrowed her brows at him.

"Didn't you see them?"

"They're like they always were… Good at their partnership and even better at their jobs." She shrugged.

_She didn't seem the subtle brush that Clint gave her when I asked her how they were doing… Interesting._

"I guess. I'm going to call it a night, is that okay with you?" He said.

"Take it, Phil. You haven't had a day off in… forever. Nobody works after hours like you. Not after a gig like that."

"What can I say? I'm not as young and as fast as I used to be. I need to prove to Fury that I'm worth his time and space. That's exactly why I do it, too. After a gig like that, I need to prove that I'm not losing my touch."

"Nobody thinks that you're losing it, Phil. Don't you see? People respect you. You might not have gigantic biceps like a certain archer, but you're certainly not losing it. It's called brains." Maria laughed. "Fury trusts you. You're one of the most seasoned agents that's still in the field, let alone our organisation."

"You really think that?"

"Have some faith in yourself. You keep telling Clint, but it seems like our boy here needs a pep talk too."

"Thanks, Maria. It'll come back eventually. My ego sort of… down-hilled after I got beaten up."

"You mustn't think like that. You took on seven guys… _Alone._ I don't think anyone could've done a better job than you. You managed to break a nose and cause a concussion. That's pretty impressive in itself." She smiled encouragingly.

"I also broke my fingers." He chuckled. "A man with big balls and small fists."

"Have you seen the agents nowadays? Scared to do shit. Clint and Natasha are the only proper agents around… Save for one or two, but they're not good people."

"That's true. Don't you think that we should contemplate the - "

"The only contemplating you should do is contemplating when you're going to bed. I hope that's soon."

"Yes, Ma'am." He smiled as he yawned. "G'night, Lieutenant."

"Good night, Phil."

* * *

"You like to keep your body in good shape, don't you, Agent Romanoff?" A voice from the left side of her treadmill asked. "I don't think I've formally introduced myself. My name is John, John Brown. I know, boring name, isn't it?"

Natasha nodded and looked forward, continue running.

John Brown was not, however, an average Joe. He was considered one of SHIELD's best looking agents, dark hair, baby blue eyes, good physique and colgate-commercial material teeth.

He was also known for the way he treated women - toys.

"Oh, come on, Natasha. Can't you at least look at me?" He frowned. Natasha glared at him for using her first name. The only ones she could tolerate calling her like that were her superiors… and Clint.

"I'm training."

"I can see that."

"Then why don't you fuck off, Brown?" She spat, punching the red button on the treadmill and her 10K coming abruptly to a stop at 8K._ I guess you could just row, work your arms, or use a cross trainer? Maybe a cycling machine?_

10K was nothing to her. She'd just started to feel the burn in her calves and legs, a little sore in her core, too, from doing crunches.

"Can you at least look at me?" Brown asked pathetically. He wasn't used to being treated like this, and obviously it was a blow to his ego when it happened.

"Why would I look at you?" She frowned as she walked towards a free cross training machine.

"Because I'm talking to you?"

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Later, then. I'll see you at lunch."

"What if I don't want to talk to you?" She spat at him again, eyes blazing with a heated anger.

"Pft. Please… Next time, Agent Romanoff… I'll get you next time." Brown said with a smirk as he walked away.

* * *

"You look pissed as hell." Clint chuckled as he nudged Natasha on the shoulder as he caught up with her in the corridor.

"Fuck off." She muttered.

"What's up?"

"Nothing."

"We've known each other for _quite_ a while, now, Tasha. What is wrong?"

"_Nothing!_"

"It's not nothing. I'll keep bugging you if you don't tell me. Bad night's sleep? Stomach ache? Missed your copy of Guns and Ammo? Had a frustrating wet - "

"My time slowed by two minutes." She hissed, wanting to punch him in the face. _There are too many agents. Don't do it. Not here._

"Ah…" He nodded knowingly. "Have you had - "

"Yes, I've had water and food. No, it's not because of dehydration. I'm a grown woman, Clint. I can take care of myself."

Clint raised his hands up to show defeat. "Alright, alright."

"Fuck off." She muttered as she walked faster; more strides, larger gait.

The archer watched her with a pout on his face and a mist of confusion in his brain. _She doesn't normally act like that, does she?_

**~End of Chapter~**

_AN: Really really enjoyed writing this chapter... As some of you may know, I modified this off my story with the same name - Killing Time. This is much better than my previous writing (: _

_Thank you so much for reading! As always, please, please review! It makes me so happy and fuzzy~ Also, if there's anything that you'd like to see (anything that you liked in particular, anything you'd like in future chapters), please feel free to message me or leave a comment! Your feedback is what drives me to write more (: xx_

Inspiration: Closer - Nine Inch Nails


	8. Petraficare

**Everybody Deserves A Second Chance**

**Chapter 8**

There were only so many times Natasha Romanoff had been petrified.

And right now, she was petrified.

After two years of working together, Natasha thought that she'd have a better grasp of who her partner really was; his personality, lifestyle, cognitive processes.

She still had no clue.

Whether she liked it or not, he put up this… defence mechanism. One minute he was an enthusiastic puppy, then the other a calm, cool professional. He seemed never to stray in-between those boundaries, but rather, concretely bipolar. But it wasn't until his rough hands were around her throat, squeezing the last ounce of oxygen out of her… It wasn't until then, did she realise how dangerous this man really was. Aside from being the world's greatest marksman, he was…

A sadist.

_A psychopath?_

Natasha kept asking herself, was he? What was he?

She was almost certain that he had sadistic tendencies… The smirk on his face when his arrows penetrate his targets… But now, this moment was different.

His crooked grin was because of her.

She was sure that her face was red… She couldn't breathe. _Clint!_ She tried opening her mouth and speaking._ Clint, that's enough!_

No sound came out.

Her hands were held above her head, his knees pinning her legs to the floor. The amount that she could move was minimal… with his weight and size, it was almost impossible for her to turn the tables.

His hand felt like it was crushing her… crushing her neck, pressing on her throat, forcing her life out of her body. _Stop!_ She tried screaming. Her eyes were tearing up as the seconds ticked by, colours swimming as her body started to give in.

The thing that really scared her was his bulging erection.

It wasn't there a minute ago.

But the minute he started squeezing - the minute he got his hands on her neck, his cock got harder and harder.

Clint Barton was a sadist.

She looked into his blue-grey eyes, almost searching for an answer, but all he returned was a chilling merriness. He was _enjoying_ this.

Maybe Natasha did take it a little far, this time.

Maybe her knife cutting into his face, nipping his shoulders and thighs was taking it a little far.

Maybe elbowing him, kneeing him in the gut was taking it a little far.

Clint strangling her definitely was taking it too far.

He'd snapped into this… almost trance-like state. Clearly he wasn't thinking properly… Clearly something had triggered it… Clearly…

His eyes were more crisp, more clear than she'd ever seen them. His veins were popping out of his arms and neck, the pulse of his heart nearly visible amidst it all. It was like Clint just snapped into focus, like this was just his alter-ego, like his subconscious, his unconscious. This wasn't her partner. So whatever this was, he had to stop it.

Thank God for the improved mitochondrial functions… Thank God for the increased red blood cell count.

Without the serum, Natasha Romanoff would already be dead.

Natasha kept fighting him, trying to slide out beneath him. She tried everything she could, everything that was possible without breaking her bones… Clint, in this state, was too merciless.

The moment that he broke her was the moment that her pupils suddenly dilated. Natasha just stopped, fractions away from tears. A visible tremor passed through every fibre of her being. She was truly petrified of whoever this was.

Because it wasn't Clint.

So, when Phil Coulson put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him away, Natasha gaped at him, heaving to catch up for breaths, speechless.

"Clinton Francis Barton, what the hell - "

"It was a training exercise, Phil." Natasha croaked weakly as she stabilised her breathing.

"A training exercise? He nearly ki - "

"I asked him to do it. He was simulating an assault by a man, much larger than me, given that they are as good as him."

"The purpose?"

"To see how long I could hold out for."

"I see." Phil raised an eyebrow at Clint. "Well, I'll leave you to it. A gentle reminder that you two have been sparring for almost the whole hour. I think it's time for you to hydrate and rest up. Even though there's nothing that requires your skills _yet_, we still need you both _alive_ and _well._"

"Will do, Coulson. Thank you." Natasha nodded as he walked out of the room.

Clint sat slowly, his movements without his usual agility as he slumped onto the bench. Natasha took a few deep breaths before sitting next to him.

* * *

The familiar light headedness washed over him, the muscles in his hands tensing up. Not this again.

Of course he was angry with himself; the moment he snapped out of it, Natasha was pinned to the floor, his hands on her neck and it looked like she was severely out of breath… He didn't know what got into him. And of course Natasha would stay silent, giving him time.

Wait.

Why did _he_ need time?

After all, it was he who nearly strangled her to death. It was he that snapped, lost control and hurt her. It was he who scared her. So why did she give him the space?

Clint tried to think, he really tried to think. It was times like these where he willed himself to actively think. _Think about what you've done. Fuck, Clint. Fuck._

And all this time, Natasha was just looking at him, hoping that he was back. She kept her fingers crossed, almost praying that the Clint that she would speak to was the Clint that she knew. A cold sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead, his brows furrowed, knitted into an ugly frown.

"Natasha…" His voice was small and soft, almost as if he was the one that was broken. "I-I am… I am so sorry."

She gave him a look for him to continue speaking.

"I don't know wh-how… Are you alright?" He asked.

"I'm alright." She gulped. "Just a little taken back by… You."

"I know."

"You scared me, Clint. I've never seen you so…"

"Out of control?"

Natasha nodded.

He looked at her apologetically.

Clint took a few deep breaths, contemplating whether he should tell her or not.

After what he just did, it was only right to.

"A few years ago… I was diagnosed with, um… a slight bipolar… what did they call it? Uh… Cyclothymia. Fury sent me to a shrink and he said that it was normal in our circle." Clint sighed. "He said: 'It's nothing to worry about, Barton. Just remind yourself to keep your emotions intact'… Easier said than done."

The archer's eyes closed suddenly as he grimaced at the thought of it.

"It was all okay, I didn't have that many screwups from there. But then, along comes the bitch."

Natasha waited for a moment before tilting her head to the side. _He doesn't mean you, does he?_

"No, not you." He smiled sadly. "Barbara Morse, or Bobbi, if you prefer. She was also known as Mockingbird. She was relatively famous at the time… Came back from Alaska or wherever the fuck it was. Fury assigned us as a couple to Dubai. The first mission went well."

"The first mission." Natasha repeated.

"There were others. So, second mission, we're sent to Macau as a married couple, right? To deal with one of the trades that was happening on dock nine in Hong Kong and get one of the big guys to slip up, and… The bitch convinced me that one of the shipments contained resources for warfare. She had all the equipment - the infrared, x-rays, the lines back to SHIELD. I was only supposed to blow up the office, but… She convinced me to set some around the cargo. I figured if she had the equipment, she would know what she was doing."

There was an air of certainty that didn't end well. Natasha knew it. She could see it in Clint's eyes. So, for the first time, she saw through the mask. The mask that was the perfect agent, perfect archer. The barrier that he'd set between himself and anyone else. His voice cracked.

"I can still smell it." He slumped forwards, his elbows on his thighs and hands scratching his forehead. "I can still smell the burning flesh. I remember it all. The flames, it went up… The cloud of smoke was black at first, but then it was white. I blew up a cargo of thirty seven girls. The bitch said she made a mistake, that she never intended to hurt anyone, but no. She used me. Fury was on her side, saying that she had a high success rate and all the bullshit, and that I should forgive her. Natasha… I blew up thirty seven girls."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Was it not? _I _set up the explosions. _I_ pressed the button._ I _listened to her." Clint paused for a moment to kick his legs up and sit cross-legged. "In the end, I found out the reason. I dug up her file, and turns out; she had a grudge against prostitutes. Few years back, her fiance cheated on her with a whore. She was heart broken and killed them both. She was careful about it too, no evidence to hold her."

"She manipulated you."

"Exactly. At the time, Fury liked her more than anyone else in the organisation. Even more than Hill and Coulson. She was relentless and _too good_ at her job. She got things done quicker than any other agent, including myself." Clint blinked. "Where was I? Uh… Macau. Right. So, we go to finish the job, right? And the mission is complete. We're waiting for our pick up, which wasn't until the next day, and she kisses me. I pushed her away, but she kept kissing me, said it was necessary to stay in role. I told her it was bullshit, you know, in the nicest possible way, given that she just made me kill_ thirty seven girls _in cold blood."

"You didn't kill them in cold blood. It was a mistake that you learn not to make again."

Clint sighed. "For the convenience of tracking our marks, we were assigned the Sands. Nice place, it was. I went down to the bar for a whiskey or two, and after the third - I was so out of it. You know me, normally I can take six or seven before that happens. I was tired and shit, so I go back to our room. She was waiting for me there, black lingerie, fucking whore… She kissed me again and again, and my head hurt like shit and it was swimming and I felt light headed. Before I knew it, I blacked out."

"That bitch spiked you?"

"That bitch spiked me." He growled. "I woke up naked, and she was naked too. I was still fucked in the head, but I vaguely remember her riding me. Or at least it felt like it. At the time, I thought I was having a wet dream or something, so I nodded off again. We got sent to base with my head hurting like shit and on the way back, she kept smirking at me. One day, I was training and I got a text saying to meet her at the janitor's shed behind the boiler's room. I knew something was up, so I texted back, I said 'why should I?' She sends me a picture of us, my cock in her mouth, it looks like she's crying and shit and my head is thrown back in pleasure."

Natasha gaped at him, gulping.

"The bitch set me up, made it look like I forced her to fuck with me… She took so many photos, God… Riding me, blowing me… She fucked with my head, Natasha. I didn't want to tell Phil, I was pretty new at the time. I was accused for robbing and stealing shit before I joined SHIELD. I thought that he wouldn't trust me more than he trusted her. So, I never told anyone about it. We were sent on more missions together. She forced me to fuck her, she made me _her _bitch. Made me eat her out and lick her asshole, that dirty _cunt. _She gagged me and fucked my ass with a dildo. She tied me up and whipped me, made me wear anal plugs and shit. When I didn't do what she said, she would show me the pictures on her phone and kick me in the fucking balls."

"Clint…" She could see that he was tensing up, his fingers digging into his palms when he clenched his fists. "You don't have to talk a - "

"You'd think that I'm stronger, but I was _raped_ by a woman, Natasha. She fucking raped me. My first episode was when I fucking had enough. She waved her phone around at base, I lost it. I tackled her, beat the shit out of her until she fucking screamed and begged for mercy. Put her blonde ass up in hospital for three weeks. Phil asked me what the fuck happened. I told him, I told him all about it. I told him about the cargo, the hotel, the pictures, what she did to me. He personally flew to Macau to get a recording of the hotel corridor, proving that I was spiked that night. Thank God for Phil, Natasha. Thank fucking God. Barbara Morse disappeared after that. Fury wouldn't tell me where she went… Smart man. I would have tracked her down and killed her if I knew. They say that she was sent to slave in bootcamp."

"Then why - "

"That was my first fucking episode, Natasha. It landed me on meds and therapy for a whole fucking month. The drugs made me fuzzy… I felt so lost. When I was back in the field, it was so much better. No signs of it at all. But then I come across an interrogation five months later, this woman worked for a terrorist group in Spain. I got such a kick out of it that I really did end up raping her. But then again, I don't remember because during the episodes, my mind blanks. I don't remember what happened just now. I get a kick out of hearing people scream - hearing pretty girls scream because of me."

"I didn't scream, just now… I _whimpered_." She hissed the word, angry at the weakness that she had shown.

"Whatever triggered it… this is not good. Phil can't know about this… He'll put me on meds again, and I… Please, Natasha. Forgive me for hurting you, I - Please don't tell Phil - "

"He won't hear about this." She took his hand and rubbed his knuckles tenderly. "I promise."

Clint looked at her with the saddest face. "Thank you, Natasha."

That was the first time she felt her heart throb like that. The pain on his face, in his eyes… All armour shredded from him.

"I nicked you with my knife quite a few times. Come, let's get you patched up." She smiled gently at him.

* * *

After hearing Clint out, she went to Phil and asked if she could see her file. He was reluctant at first, but then Natasha mouthed_ Clint_. The agent walked her to the filing room and said to her. "I know that wasn't a training exercise, Natasha. I know you want to protect him, you think you owe him your life - "

"I do, and I hate it."

"But it's not doing him any good either. I'll pretend I didn't see or hear anything. You have to beware of his mood swings as well. It's gotten a lot better, but…"

"But what happened just now." She nodded. "I get it, Coulson."

"I'm just saying. If he's told you, then he trusts you." Phil unlocked one of the higher cabinets, punching in a code. "You're not cleared for this. Actually, I'm pretty surprised the Director cleared you for a level five in the first place."

Natasha kept her eyes on him, watching as he moved.

"Here's the file." He said as he handed her a manila folder. "I know you'll put it to good use. Please, Natasha… You can help Clint. If there's anyone who can help him, it's you. He's been so much happier ever since you came. I know you guys… I can assure you that Clint didn't tell me - he probably doesn't know, actually - I know you guys fucked."

She blinked twice, beginning to defend herself. "Coulson, I - "

"It's alright with me. You guys are… special. Even if Fury found out, he'd probably just let it slide pass. Just… keep it down low, okay? I say it's alright, but it's still a mess if this spreads around."

"How can I help Clint?"

"I don't know either. Whatever you do… don't gag him. Don't shove anything up his ass." Phil gulped. "He's traumatised. Jesus Christ, I don't even know how he managed to stay with her for so long afterwards. He should've trusted me to trust him! I recruited him, for God's sakes."

"If it's any consolation, I would have done the same… Given that anyone was good enough to outsmart me." Natasha muttered. "You can't change what has happened."

"You assassins and your trust issues."

Natasha shrugged.

"Just don't go to overboard with the sparring, will you?" Phil sighed, leading her out of the room.

"Okay. Thanks, Coulson. I'll return the file to you tomorrow."

* * *

_He was raped._ She shook her head._ He was raped, too… Not for missions, but somebody took advantage of him. Somebody hurt him - did that to him - changed him into a..._

Natasha felt an enormous wave of rage wash through her. _That fucking bitch. Barbara fucking Morse._

_She turned him into a monster._

A sudden knock on her door broke her train of thoughts. "Come on in."

"Natasha…" Clint opened the door slightly to pop himself against the door frame. His posture was different, lower, shoulders slumped back. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." She said. "How are_ you_ feeling?"

"Relieved, actually. Now, I don't have to worry about when you're going to find out."

"Idiot."

"I'm sorry for what I did today. I'll try not to let it happen again."

"You better not." She smirked, popping herself off the bed to walk up to him and gave him a salute. "Agent Barton, I want to see you work twice as hard on the next mission to make up to me, understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am." He chuckled, saluting her. "I got my guitar back from my friend."

"Did he fix it?"

He nodded. "Would you like to hear me play?"

"I would."

Clint lead her to his room, gesturing to his bed. "Take a seat."

He plucked each string once, tuning, testing out the sound, smiling to himself. "I actually haven't played it yet, so we'll share the birthing moment together." He cleared his throat.

_I feel safe_

_I feel warm_

_When you're here, can I do no wrong?_

_I am cured, when I'm by your side_

_I'm alright, I'm alright._

His fingers expertly stroked against the strings like it just naturally flowed out of his mind. Clint closed his eyes, picturing himself in an auditorium - Natasha was there, the only audience member, sitting right there in front of him. He continued his concerto, singing in a low, husky voice.

Natasha Romanoff never really understood art. The closest thing was the art of killing, ballet, but they were all to do with her job, her past… This was different. Music never really hit her in a way that she would get goosebumps all over her shoulders, arms… His voice was so beautiful… the lyrics… This was a plead, an apology - he was sending her his soul.

_Careful where you stand, my love_

_Careful where you lay your head,_

_It's true,_

_We're always looking out for one another._

She didn't remember when he finished, how he finished, but he had his arms wrapped around her and stroking her back. Natasha had silent tears on her laps.

He never said anything about it.

He never said anything about it, he never questioned it. Never asked why... He just held her - he held her like that for an eternity. The tears didn't stop. It may have been five minutes, it may have been five years, but she lost track of time and just let the emotions flood through her. She slowly wrapped her hands around his neck, bringing him closer. He felt so warm, so safe… right as rain.

There was a heat that grew from her core, spreading outwards, until her fingertips, the ends of her burning hair felt the same warmth. Their bodies fit together just right, her arms wrapped tightly around his, his arm wrapped tightly around her. They moulded together - a symbiotic relationship that required balance, required trust. If either one of them tipped slightly, the balance would break.

As much as his music moved her, the silence said so much more. This silence that was so penetrating as listening to each other's heart beat, waiting, holding onto this moment - they didn't need words.

As much as the lyrics shook her, as much as she hated vulnerability, as much as she hated defeat, Natasha knew that Clint Barton was so much more than just a colleague.

Not just a partner, an agent, a good opponent.

Natasha knew that he was a friend.

She was the first one to move, pulling herself onto his lap as she clutched onto his shoulders for support. Jade green eyes met blue ones. Clint was waiting for a response, though he never expected one, but then came her words. "Thank you."

_Thank you for the playing? The music? The hug?_ Clint just looked at her. There was something different in her eyes; the vulnerability was back.

He saw the little girl that watched her parents burn in the fire.

Clint used his thumb to wiped the tears away from her cheeks, gently comforting her. Her lush, plump lips, freshly swollen from crying, came up to place a chaste peck on his. "Thank you, Clint." She said gently.

"No…" He shook his head. "Thank _you_."

With a tilt of her head, she sighed. "Can I… Is it okay if I… sleep with you tonight?"

"W-w…" He frowned. "Okay."

"When I sleep with you… I… I just…" Natasha took a deep breath before uttering those words. "I don't have nightmares when I sleep with you."

"Oh." Clint stroked the skin on the back of her arms. "Neither do I."

"I'm going to change into my pyjamas."

"Okay."

"I'll be back."

"Okay." He sighed. "Wait… Natasha… What about the no-sleeping-together-unless-SHIELD-provides-no-oth er-option rule?"

"Don't ruin the moment, Barton." She smirked. "Let's just say that rule is on indefinite hiatus."

* * *

Clint woke up to blissful streak of light on his face. His arms were snaked around her waist, their bodies moulded together beneath the covers. His morning wood was prodding between her thighs, rubbing against her ass. Clint smirked.

Natasha was still fast asleep in his arms, her face curiously peaceful. Her pouty lips were slightly parted, jaw slacked and her pale skin glowing in the sunlight. Her hips rolled, sliding against him as she turned to face him. With his nose touching hers, he gently pecked her lips, smiling as he whispered. "You are so beautiful when you sleep, Natasha."

The alarm beeped 0600 hours. Since they had no mission that day, Clint decided it was best to get some more sleep, resting up his muscles and strength.

* * *

Natasha woke with a soft whimper, her eyelids fluttering before fully waking up. Her partner was drooling onto his pillow, still sound asleep with his arms around her. She had no idea how long they'd been sleeping, or what time it was, but gently stayed as still as she could, afraid that she might wake him up.

Normally, Natasha couldn't give a shit about the people she slept with, if anyone at all. If missions required her to play "girlfriend", then she would fit the role 110%. But she wasn't on a mission, neither was she Clint's girlfriend. Sure, they were partners, fuck-buddies; at most, they were friends, but she wasn't the type to care.

But she cared about him.

She cared about when he got hurt, his wellbeing, his feelings as well as his thoughts about her. It wasn't hard to keep up a reputation, "Ice-girl", she'd overheard gossip in the corridor. Natasha didn't feel like she had to put anything up when she was with him. His devil-may-care attitude, playful nature, all of which she would've hated, she'd learnt to tolerate, or even appreciate. With him, she felt at ease with her surroundings.

She felt at ease with herself.

Maybe that was the reason she enjoyed his company, because she never felt the need to be anyone, hide anything. She could show all her true colours, and he would accept it. With him, it was like burdens lifted off her shoulders. She could even, at times, enjoy herself - enjoy what she does for a different reason.

Clint groaned as he tried to move his arm upwards, her body trapping him. His eyes shut tight before opening for good. "Tasha?"

"Hi." She said quietly as she looked into his eyes.

"G'morning." He chuckled, sniffing.

"Good morning, Clint." She said.

"You're blushing."

"I-I…" She swallowed as she tried to look away. "It's a little hot."

"It's always a little hot when you're here." He chuckled again, rolling his hips so his erection prodded against her thigh. "Can we have morning sex?"

"Always so romantic, Clint." She managed weakly, smirking as she placed her hand over his erection. "I'm a little tired, so, I'll help you jack off?"

"But I wanna be inside you!" He pouted, whining childishly.

"Work with what you've got, Barton." Her fingers glided along his length, gently squeezing over the fabric of his pants. "God, you're so hard."

"I blame you and your sexy ass." He smirked, holding her hips as he started gyrating his hips. "Harder, Tash!"

"So impatient." Natasha tutted, shaking her head with a smile on her lips. She felt him pulse, cock twitching against her palm. "You want to hold this out, or you just wanna come?"

"I want to see how long I can last."

"I can tease you forever."

"I know. Maybe you should just make me come."

"Changing your mind so quickly, huh?"

"Well, you're not going to let me fuck you, so I guess…" He shrugged, trying to stifle a groan. "Two can play the game."

"Only one can win." She smirked. "Tell you what… You hold on to yourself for five minutes… If you last that long, I'll let you do whatever with me."

"Really?" A gleam lit up in his eyes.

"Really." She confirmed, seeing how happy he was. "Now, Agent Barton. Let the game begin."

Natasha glanced over to the alarm, taking a note of the time before returning her attention to his cock. She stroked him faster, gripping him harder over the fabric.

"Fuck, Natasha!" He grunted, throwing his head back.

"Don't lose the game so quickly, Clint. I'm only starting to enjoy myself."

He growled at her, pulling her closer as his hands groped her ass roughly, squeezing and digging his nails into her skin. Natasha moaned when the delicious bite of his fingers spread on her cheeks, making sure that he could hear her.

"You moan like a pornstar, Natasha." Clint managed deeply. "You're so sexy when you moan."

"I know what men like, Clint." She purred, slipping her hands inside the waistband to tug on his pubic hair. "You're sensitive to noises, aren't you?"

She gripped his shaft sliding her fingers along the skin as she let out another moan. Natasha pictured him fingering her, licking her wet pussy as she began to feel herself moisten. Using her thumb, she brushed along the tip of his cock, grazing the padding along the slit. The precome gathered on the tip of her fingers. She took it towards her hand, sucking gently. It occurred to her that she _wanted_ him to win; she wanted him to fuck her.

"God, you're so dirty, Tasha." Clint groaned as he bit onto his lip to control his pleasure. "I'm not going to lose. I'm going to fuck you sore, Natasha, and you're going to love it."

A whimper escaped her lips as she brushed a hand along her breasts and returned to pleasuring him, jacking him off. Clint smirked when he saw that, using it to his advantage. "You like giving me a handjob, don't you, baby? You like it when you pleasure me?"

"Yes." She whimpered as the grip on her ass tightened. "C-Clint, you're going to leave a bruise."

"You also like it when I mark you, don't you?" He growled, thrusting his hips into her hand. "You like it rough. I know you do."

"Yes…" Natasha moaned as he stroked her ass. She threw another glance at the clock. Six minutes had passed. "You win, Clint. Fuck me… please…"

"Good girl." He chuckled, turning her around and peeling off her clothes to reveal her perfect skin. "I'm going to take you from behind."

Clint positioned himself against her slit, already moist with her own nectar. He used his hand to spread her open, slowly sliding into her.

"F-fuck, Clint!" She gasped as his shaft filled her. Her pussy pulsed, tightening against him. "Fuck!"

"I know, baby." He groaned. "You're so fucking tight, fuck!"

Their hips moved together, meeting each other thrust for thrust. He pressed his hands on her perfect breasts, pinching her nipples as he watched them stiffen, turning a brilliant shade of pink. "C-Clint!" She whimpered.

"God, fuck, Natasha. Moan, baby!" He growled as he fucked her harder, thigh slapping her ass. "I'm gonna come…"

Natasha reached down to rub her clit, the little knob exploding with pleasure. "I want to come with you, Clint… I'm gonna come as well…"

The archer groaned when he emptied himself inside her, spilling his seed into her hot pussy. Natasha came shortly after, hips rolling against his limp cock as her whimpers escalated to a scream. "Clint!" His name tumbled desperately from her mouth, almost ripping across the room as they dimmed down. "God, Clint…"

"I'm glad I won, Romanoff." He chuckled as he breathed in her scent. "I think you're glad I did, too."

"I'm glad any time you make me come."

"Multiple times."

"Oh, God, not today." She shook her head. "I'm going to be sore for a while."

"I can tell. Maybe next time, then. I guess only-one-can-win lead into a win-win situation."

"You still won twice. I'm gonna get you next time."

"Oh, I'd like to see you try."

**~End of chapter~**

_A/N: Again... I really, really enjoy writing, but the real motivation is getting reviews from y'all, so __**please review**__! I have the same 2 people review all the chapters (Well done, you 2), and to the rest of y'all... I know you can do better. (I may or may not be a review whore, but oh well)._

_As always, thank you for reading and I hope you've enjoyed this chapter (: xx_

_Inspiration: Careful Where You Stand - Coldplay_  
_Started From The Bottom - Drake_


	9. Love Makes You Blind

**Everybody Deserves A Second Chance**

**Chapter 9**

**November 14th, 2009**

Clint laid on the bed, grunting in pain. Everything was dark, no - everything was pitch black. Not a single photon entered his eyes._ What the fuck happened? _His ears were ringing, too… People were mumbling things that he couldn't understand. The archer started to panic. He really panicked.

The first feeling of nausea washed over him as his throat constricted… It felt like he couldn't breath. His chest stopped heaving as he grabbed the sheets until his knuckles were white and painful._ What the fuck happened?_ The air was cool around him and smelled like antiseptics. _You're in a hospital…_

Natasha observed the first few seconds of Clint's consciousness. He was so scared… Maybe he didn't notice, but his face was crumpled into an expression of despair and agony, the ugly cuts across his handsome features weeping, as if that was how he felt. He was everywhere. THe doctors covered his eyes with cotton and gauze.

Apparently, the gas from the bomb was toxic.

Before Clint could hurt himself any more, Natasha laid a hand on his shoulder. His teeth were clenched as he turned his head towards her. He recognised her touch.

"Natasha…" Clint mumbled. His words were slurred and unclear, but it was obvious that he was calling for her. Natasha sat closer to him on the side of the bed so her lower back rested against the side of his thigh. "Natasha…" He mumbled again.

"Yes… Clint, it's me…" Natasha hushed, stroking him softly. He sighed as he visibly relaxed his neck and let his head fall into the pillow behind him. For a second, he breathed normally again, but that moment was short-lived.

"What the fuck happened? Why are there bandages over my eyes? Why the fuck can't I see? Fucking answer me, Romanoff!" Clint shouted as he clenched up again, his forearms bulging as he squeezed her hand.

"Clint…" Natasha clenched her jaw. Seeing her partner, seeing him like this wasn't much easier for him. "Clint… It's gonna be alright."

Clint kept his grip on her, pressing her for an answer.

"W-we ran into an ambush. There was a bomb. The gas got to your eyes before you could escape."

"When are they going to take the bandage off?" He asked when he released her, staying silent for a moment. "When can I see again?"

His body trembled with an unspeakable terror, inconsistent shudders running through him with every breath he took. Clint was scared out of his mind. To him, he'd lost his eyesight, he won't be able to survive on the field. No… He couldn't survive, t all, without his eyes. Everything was black, not even Natasha's voice could calm him down._ You little shit. Stop crying. STOP CRYING. _His eyes were bringing with a feeling of dryness, like he had them open for five hours straight, without blinking.

"God, it hurts." He hissed, frowning as he reached to touch the bandage.

"It's gonna be okay, Clint." _The medics said that it was unlikely for him to see again._ Natasha thought about telling him, but he was Clint.

That insanely stubborn bastard.

_He would go insane._

"When can I see again?" He sobbed again.

"The doctors are going to check up on you in a week." Natasha lied. "You'll better by then. I'm here to take care of you until you get better."

"I don't need your help!" Clint huffed as he leaned back onto the bed. "I just want… Kiss me."

Natasha didn't wait a second longer. She kissed him, chaste and swift, cradling his face in her hands. "What if I don't see again?" He whispered against her lips as his voice cracked, breaking in the most painful way.

The quirk in his voice wasn't his usual jokey, playful tone. It was a break, shattering his armour, a fracture in his mind. The black hole sucking him in, trapped in the inescapable tar pit. The moment that it quaked was the moment he died a little inside.

"You'll see again. You will." Natasha stroked his hair like he did when he held her. "Phil and I are going to make sure that they do everything they can."

"I'm scared." Clint whispered.

"I know." Natasha kissed him again. What could she do? She wasn't a doctor, or a nurse. She didn't know how to talk to people in this situation, but he was in such pain. It was almost like _she_ was the one who was helpless, but she kept it together for him. "I'm here for anything you need, Clint."

His stomach growled, almost on cue.

Clint managed to chuckled weakly, but his smile was so sad.

"I'll go get you some food from the canteen. Be back soon." She murmured as she kissed him on the forehead and stroked his hand. "Don't miss me too much."

* * *

_The air around him was too cold… dry ice… The sudden cheer of a crowd, roaring waves of cheering, clapping. The little boy in purple flipped, spinning, landing perfectly on the cross. His brother walked the wire directly above him. The lions, elephants… And then, suddenly, he was wiped out. All the noise echoed in his head, ringing, deafening. And then the blow to his shoulder, to his back. The burning tail of the bullwhip. _

_No._

_Stop._

* * *

Clint shook as woke, gasping heavily as he twitched from the memory. Natasha was gone no more than ten minutes, but he'd dozed off from the drugs.

_God fucking dammit._

* * *

Natasha returned to his side some thirty minutes later with a ham and cheese croissant and a hot cup of coffee. She watched as Clint chewed and swallowed, twiddling her thumbs.

"Thanks, Tash." Clint said after he'd downed the last bite of his croissant.

"No problem at all." She said.

"Sit with me." Clint patted on the side of the bed. Natasha lifted herself from the chair and placed herself next to Clint as he shuffled up against the bed and reached up to adjust the position of his pillows.

"Here." Natasha craned her hand around his head, bringing him forward and patted the pillow twice. "Better?"

He nodded. Clint stayed silent for a while as Natasha sat with him. _It's her… It's definitely her. It's her smell and her heat and her voice._ He pictured her in his head, the image of her next to him on the bed, his hands hovering gently over the curve of her shoulder as she looked down at him. Her beautiful face, large green eyes and sensual lips guarding him, protecting him as she brushed the stray locks of hair from her face.

"Can I touch you?" Clint gulped as he reached for Natasha's hand.

"Not here, Clint. People might - " Natasha shook her head as she smiled sadly, knowing that he wouldn't be able to see her.

"I want to touch your face. I want to see you in my head." Clint breathed again. Natasha froze, her chest aching and eyes threatening with forbidding tears. She stroked the skin on the back of his fingers before covering his hands with hers, bringing them up to her face.

His palms cupped around her jaw and cheek, the rough bumps of his callous prodding her skin.

She was there - in his mind, those clear, mystical green eyes, sculpted, lush lips, fair skin and soft, burning hair. His thumbs skidded across her cheekbones across her smoothness.

The assassin tried to keep as still as she could, breathing deeply and closing her eyes. The feeling of guilt build up in her, her brows furrowing and knotted. Her first imminent tear rolled down her cheek. Clint felt the dampness on the small webbing between his thumb and index finger. _Shit._

"Tasha…" Clint stroked her tenderly. _Why is she crying?_

"I should have seen it coming, Clint. You tripped the wire. It was my incompetence that I didn't spot it." Natasha sighed as she wiped the streak on her face. "I'm so sorry… It's my fault, Clint. I made you like - "

"You were just looking for more obvious hazards." He murmured, cutting her off. "Smile for me."

Clint felt her cheeks rise. "If there's one more thing I wish I could see again, it would be your smile. Not your fake smile, though. You know I see right through it. The one where you're really smiling… Smiling from the heart… Smiling like you really mean it. Like when you smile, or when… Or when I make you come ten times in a row."

"You sweet-talking bastard." She swatted his hand before bringing it to her chest. "Don't talk like you're never going to see the light of day again."

"Since when were _you_ the optimist?" Clint spat. Natasha gaped at him, unable to come up with a reply. "I'm sorry, that was… I just… Please stay with me for the night?"

"I'll check up with Fury." Natasha spat at him as she left the room.

* * *

Clint sat on the bed, dumbfound._ What the fuck was that about? _He let the rage take over him again - letting his emotions get the better of him. He lost control in front of her, again.

_So what if you never see again? You'll finally have an excuse to retreat from the line, from SHIELD and all their bullshit. Isn't that what all the agents want? You've got enough money to live a good life; away from all the crossfire and battlefields and red._

He shook his head, trying to clear it.

_Something's keeping you back, isn't it? Is it the killing? Hearing people scream? Fury? Phil?_

_Natasha._

As good a friend Coulson was, it was Natasha that he fought for. He trusted both of them with his life, but in the end, it was her… She watched his back as much as he watched hers. Their partnership meant the world to him, to have gained her trust and to fight side by side.

The sudden sound of the door opening broke Clint's train of thoughts. He looked up when Natasha strolled in, as if he could see her move. "Fury wants me to stay with you for at least a month, or until you get cleared by the doctors." She sighed.

"I'm sorry." Clint swallowed. "I shouldn't have… lost it, again."

"It's alright." She shook her head, sitting back on the bed. "I'm gonna miss the fighting and sparring, but I…. I want to be with you."

Clint raised a brow.

"You're my partner and… you're my friend, Clint. You're the only one who's been close to me, and most likely the _only_ one who will _ever_ be close to me. You've done too much for me."

"You owe me a debt?" Clint sighed.

"I owe you a debt, and I can never repay you for what you've given me… What you've given up for me and what you've done for me." She said as she clutched his hand. "Doctors will be coming in to check up on you."

"I'm not sure if I want to hear what they say." Clint clenched his jaw.

"Clint." Natasha tightened her fingers around his hand. "Listen well. Do this for me. If you don't consult, you won't have an expert opinion on this, the chances of your recovery will wither away. Listen to what they have to say, take any advice that they give you._ Follow_ the doctors' orders, for fuck's sake. This is about_ your_ eyes, not mine. Do what you can to recover. If reality shits on your face, well… that's that. You and I both know that there's little we can do to change it. But you do what you need to recover. Do what's best for you so we can fight together again… I'm never going to find a better partner." Natasha drew in a deep breath. "Just know that when it happens, whatever happens, I'll be here for you."

"You've got my back. You're always looking out for me." Clint smiled sadly as he stroked the back of her hand.

"We're always looking out for one another."

* * *

Clint was emitted from the medical wing three days later. The doctors didn't reach a verdict._ Just relax and enjoy your time off, Agent Barton. We'll check up on you later._ He'd refused to take a walking stick or any sort of aid. With his eyes still covered with a wrapped bandage and some wool, his hand remained on Natasha's shoulder as he walked.

During the three days, a string of friends had visited him, letting them know that he was not alone. Even John Brown, known not to talk to other male agents, stood by the side of his bed and chuckled. "You know, as much of an asshole you are, I miss you. We all do. We wanna see you up and running and throwing food in the canteen again. But only because we want Fury after your ass."

"Thanks." He chuckled.

His female colleagues said nicer things about him. "Oh my, Clint! Poor Clint! Oh, poor thing!"

Natasha just rolled her eyes as she grinned, not helping him fend off the swarm of ladies around him. She couldn't help but feel a tang of jealousy, though. She was jealous that he'd established such a good relationship with his colleagues. Not that she'd actively want that sort of thing. But she was happy that he had his support.

Maybe she was a tiny bit jealous that his world didn't revolve around her.

"Watch the umbrella stand on your left. Alright." She muttered, annoyed at the memory.

The engine of the car was louder than normal, it roared against the blackness in his mind. He didn't remember his place being this noisy… his normal hearing wasn't the best. Phil's apartment was on the top floor of the most convenient building he could find. The wind bellowed against the glass walls of their rooftop apartment.

"I've always wondered, Clint." She dumped the bags next to the bed. "Are these windows one way panels?"

"You think I'd let people invade my space?" He chuckled as his hands wandered. He finally popped himself on the bed, wincing as he forgot about the gash on his back. "Ow."

"Be careful, Clint."

"Can you give me my guitar?"

"You can play without looking?"

"I told you… I hear it in my head."

"I mean… without looking at the… string things."

"You mean the frets? When you play for long enough, it's second nature. I might make a few mistakes, but I can still play. I have to stop myself from being bored, remember?"

"Alright, then. I'm gonna go make some tea."

Natasha could hear the tuning from the kitchen, sighing. She put the kettle on the fire, thinking of what she could do to make him feel better. She returned to the bedroom with a luke warm cup of Earl Grey for him.

"Here… It's hot, though." She held his head when she brought the cup to his lips.

"It's not hot, it's luke warm." He mumbled after gulping his tea down.

"I was just being careful." She muttered with a frown.

"You're treating me like a child." He shook his head. "Natasha… I'm okay. I'll be better."

"You better be." She smirked.

"Request a song?" He asked.

"No."

"I don't know that song."

She snorted.

"That's very unladylike." He laughed.

"Shut up."

"I'll play you my favourite acoustic song?"

"Alright."

His fingers expertly plucked out Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, occasionally missing a string or two, but overall, it flowed like silk. "That's amazing…" She breathed quietly.

"Thank you."

"You weren't supposed to hear that."

"I normally wouldn't, but now I don't have the distraction of the sight of your tits… Everything else is heightened. I'm like daredevil." He chuckled.

"Maybe you should stay blind." She flicked him on the forehead. "Daredevil, huh?"

"Ow, Tasha. Why are you always so mean to me?"

"I was only joking, child."

He pouted.

By the end of the week, they'd learnt to live with the darkness. Natasha would cook and Clint would try to guess what it was.

"Lasagna or bolognese?" He sat at the table, plastic fork and knife in his hands.

"How do you do that?" She closed her eyes and sniffed. "Lasagna."

"Yes!" He smiled, gleeful of his new found talent. "It's magic."

"Whatever." She chuckled, setting his plate in front of him. For the past week, she'd gotten used to sharing the food, sitting close to him. Normally, the proximity would be uncomfortable, but it was bearable with him.

"Are you gonna sit on my lap some time soon?" Clint chuckled as he nudged her thigh with his knee. "You're sitting closer and closer, I like it. I can smell your hair so clearly."

"What do I smell like?"

"You stink."

Natasha smacked him on the arm. "What do I smell like?"

"You smell like you… Roses and vanilla and musk. Sexy as shit." He said with a shrug.

"Do I always smell like that?"

"Usually. After missions you also smell like sweat and blood, but you wash that away and when we sleep, you smell nice. I like the way you smell."

"You like everything about me."

"Not the way you bully me."

"I don't bully you. I harshly educate you about human interactions and boundaries."

"You let me fuck you… why won't you let me touch your tits? I only do it every other day…"

"Barton, you ass."

"Am I causing you a lot of trouble?"

"What?" Natasha blinked, taken back for a second.

"Am I… you know, troublesome? You get annoyed at me even if I'm _not_ blind, I can only imagine what you've - "

"You're only _temporarily_ lost your vision." She emphasised on the word. "You're not troublesome… just… immature."

"If you want to go do your own stuff, you can go do your own stuff." He sighed. "You've been baby sitting me for a week. Even Coulson takes a break from me. I know I'm a lot to handle."

"As long as you're not staring at my tits and ass all the time." She chuckled. "I… I like this - this… temporary leave. I get to know what you do outside of work."

"What do you normally do outside of work?"

"Train. Think about work. Throw some knives, shooting range, that type of thing."

"God, Romanoff."

"I've told you. My work is my life, there's nothing that'll change that."

"I think that's significantly decreased, though." He whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you noticed? You've been spending time doing things with me… You've even agreed to go ice skating with me if they clear me."

"Just because that's something I can do, and you can't."

"Still... Sit on my lap and spoon-feed me?"

"God, you're such a child." She groaned, rolling her eyes. "Move back. I can't fit into such a small space."

Natasha straddled him, placing her feet squarely on the stretchers.

"I never thought you'd - "

"Say _ah_!" She quickly popped a spoonful of lasagne into his mouth, giggling to herself. Clint gulped down his food before his hands grabbed her waist.

"That's a sound I love to hear."

"What sound? You can't hear food."

"Your giggling."

"I…" She blushed furiously. "Shut up and eat your food."

"Yes, Ma'am." He chuckled. After a while, Clint had finished his half of the lasagne and Natasha moved on to feed herself. "Can I feed you?"

"You're going to make a mess."

"I don't care."

"God, Barton, I swear I work with a three-year-old." She swatted him away.

"I don't care."

She smiled sadly as she took his hand and gave him the spoon. "Directly in front of you."

Clint spooned the food into her mouth. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Just give me the spoon."

Natasha quickly finished her half of the dinner, cleaning up the cutlery and plates.

"I'm still hungry." Clint pouted. "I want dessert."

"Too bad."

"You're supposed to take care of me!"

"Today is Friday. Ice-cream is on Saturday."

"I want it _today_."

"No." She quickly cradled his head in her arms, sighing. "You promised that you would to listen to me."

"No ice-cream?"

"No ice-cream. Not today." She brushed her hand along his short brown hair. "You said so yourself."

"Can we have sex?"

He could've sworn he _heard_ her raise an eyebrow.

"But you're… You can't see…"

"Doesn't mean I'm not horny. Besides, you can guide it."

"I… I don't wanna hurt you."

"Puh-lease. You… hurt _me_? I'm invincible." He chuckled. "Please, Nat? I'm so bored."

"Fine."

She stood them up, wrapping his arms around her waist as they walked back to his room.

* * *

Natasha slid her clothes off, pale skin glistening in the moonlight. It was a pity Clint couldn't see it. Taking a pillow off the bed, she placed it on the floor in front of him. "Open you legs, Clint. I want you in my mouth."

"Oh?" He slowly slid himself towards the edge of the bed and took off his boxer-briefs. Natasha helped him position his feet either side of the pillow before she knelt down. Her cool fingertips ran along his calf, his thighs, stroking the skin and hair on his legs until a tremble ran through him. "Quit teasing, Tash."

"Hm…" She purred as she lowered her head to take him in her mouth. The tip was leaking pre-come, cock growing harder by the minute. Every pulse - every throb… She could feel everything. Natasha licked his shaft, tasting him on her tongue, greedily covering every last inch of his cock.

"Oh, God… Tasha!" He grunted as she worked on him. His fingers clutched the sheets loosely, pulling as he tried not to buck into her. "This feels even better without seeing you… I didn't think that was even possible."

She hummed mindlessly in agreement, his cock moved with the subtle vibrations in her throat.

"No…no, stop, Nat…" He placed a hand on her head to stop her. "It feels too good… I want to be inside of you. I'm going to come too quickly, this way."

Her mouth left his hot flesh as she stood and traced a finger along his chest. "I…"

"It's alright, you're not going to hurt me."

Natasha gulped as she brought her lips to his forehead, pressing gently. "But I…"

"I'm not made of glass."

"I have an idea, Clint."

"What is it?"

"I want you to… I want you to blindfold me."

"What?"

"You heard me. I want to be blindfolded so that we're on equal terms." She murmured as she retrieved a scarf before climbing into bed with him. "Besides… didn't you say that it felt better without seeing me?"

"Yes, but - "

"Hush, now…"

"You hate being blindfolded."

"Well, sometimes, when you're partner is in a situation like this… It's best to put yourself in their shoes."

The fabric dangled onto his hand as she placed it in his palm. Clint merely nodded, sighing, acknowledging the magnitude of trust she had given him. He understood the enormity of her trust, their friendship. His hands found their way to her head, gently tying the strip on her.

"Is it good?" He asked quietly.

"Yes."

"Can you see?"

"No. Dark as a bat."

"Thank you, Tasha." Clint wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her close. "Thank you for doing this for me… If, tomorrow, I find out that - "

"Stop, Clint. We don't know yet. I just want to enjoy myself before you ruin it." Natasha kissed him on the forehead.

"Careful what you wish for, baby."

* * *

The drive the next morning was the longest drive both of them had ever sat through. The sheer silence, the smoothness on the road, the very air between them had changed. Clint had put on a grim look ever since she made his breakfast.

Natasha knew, or thought she knew, what was going on in his head.

_He's preparing himself for the worse._

Technically, yes.

But Clint was also running through the thoughts of her… Running through everything to do with her, these past 3 years… Reading her file… Meeting her… Bringing her back. Their partnership, friendship… Their fucking.

If he wasn't able to see… this would be the end.

Of course Fury wouldn't let her go - she's the best of the best. It's not like she would retreat, either. Like she said, it was her_ life_, it was more than just a job. He would like to encourage her to keep going, keep on going without him - she was born for the field. But, he, on the other hand, was nothing but a mere pawn. Nothing but a piece of chess in the game they called 'espionage'. The job was part of his lifestyle, but he wouldn't go so far as to calling it his _life._

"I really wish I knew what you were thinking about." She sighed, pulling the car into the parking lot.

"I'm thinking about the future - what happens if I - "

"It's not gonna - "

"Listen to me, Natasha." He simply said. "Sugar coating things right now ain't gonna help me, so just listen to me. If I get better; if I'm able to see again, then so help me, I'll be in the game for another ten, twenty years. That's that. But, if I don't… You promise me you'll try your hardest not to fucking die."

"Clint…" She whispered, trying to fight the sadness coursing through her. "I'm not doing this without you."

"It's your life."

"People change, Clint. You've changed my me… You've changed everything about me." She sighed. "If, and only if they can't fix you… I'll retire, I guess. There are a lot of things I haven't told you yet. My stories will be enough to tell you for a lifetime. And we can swap, you can tell me yours. And remember? We still have to go ice-skating. You promised me you'd go with me. I owe you my life, Clint… I owe you everything I have, everything that I ever will have. Don't let me down, now."

"It's not something I can control."

"So, promise me that you'll fucking see again, Barton. I don't want to live in Florida for the rest of my years. Be optimistic about it? Where's your Goddamn smile?" She slammed onto the steering wheel, pissed as hell. "That's better."

"Promise me you won't ever, ever go looking for death."

"I promise." She touched his hand briefly. "Promise me you're thinking about seeing my face again."

"I promise."

* * *

"We're ready for you, Agent Barton." A nurse said to the pair.

Natasha took Clint into the medical room, guiding him to sit on the bed.

His heart was beating so fast… So fast…

_Thump… Thump…_

They waited for the doctor in silence, Clint's thumb stroking the soft skin on the back of her hand. "Remember what we promised?"

"Don't tell me you already forgot, old man."

"I'm going to take off the bandage, now. You don't have to open your eyes just yet. All in your own time." The doctor said reassuringly. Slowly, but surely, he unravelled the bandage. The white dressing uncoiled around his head like he was shedding, blossoming out of his cocoon. Clint kept his eyes shut, never letting go of her hand. "Well, then. I'll leave you two some room. Let us know when you're ready. We still have some checks to run on Mister Barton, no matter the outcome."

The doctor sighed as he threw the bandage in the trashcan.

As soon as the doctor left the room, Clint pulled Natasha onto his lap as he held her waist with strong fingers. She faced him, looking at his handsome features - his expression a cluster of confusion and desperation. "I'm going to open my eyes now."

"Okay."

For the first time since the explosion, Clint eased his eyes open, blinking twice before keeping them apart. His eyes were dry and ruddy, the skin surrounding a deep shade of violet. He was smiling so brightly, the shimmer in his blue eyes still as beautiful, if not more. Natasha looked at him, desperate to know his condition. They sat in a pregnant silence, Natasha's face morphed into a growing frown.

"Clint?"

"Don't frown, Natasha." He murmured before breaking into a large grin.

"Oh, Clint!" She wrapped her arms around his neck as he held her. Every breath was a sigh of relief. "Fucking hell…"

"You are so beautiful, Natasha." He chuckled as he revelled in her scent. "Let me look at you, for good."

Natasha eased herself off his laps, standing firmly in front of him, a smirk on her face. Slowly, she turned, letting him linger over every curve on her body, flaunting her perfect physique.

"So beautiful… Even more so than I picture in my head…" He hummed, bringing her closer to himself and taking her hands in his. "I've missed this so much."

"I'm so happy for you!" Natasha giggled as she kissed his forehead.

"I'm so happy for me, too! I can keep fighting, and - "

"Are you sure that should be the first thing on your mind?" Phil chuckled, leaning against the doorframe.

"When did you come in?"

"When you two were busy… mingling." He sighed. "Look, Clint. I'm gonna need you to do another performance assessment. Take a week to prepare for it, given that you might be a little… disorientated, right now. Do it, we'll see when we get results."

"Aw, man… Do I have to?"

"You have to. Standard protocol." He shrugged.

"It's boring."

"I know."

"Agent Romanoff."

"Agent Coulson."

He looked at her for a few seconds, frowning as he tilted his head to the side. "He knows, doesn't he?"

She nodded.

"There's little he doesn't know."

"Are we on the same page, here?"

"I don't know, what are you talking about?"

"I don't know, what are _you_ talking about?"

"I'm talking about my episode."

"Oh. Let's be honest… it wasn't that hard to deduce."

"Why… what were you talking about?"

"He knows about our fucking."

"No…" Clint looked at her in disbelief. "How?"

"I don't know… he just… knows things."

"Yeah… sounds about right."

"Should I get the doctors?"

"Nah… let them take their time. I wanna keep looking at your tits for a few more minutes. I've missed these babies."

Clint reached out to grab her breasts but she pulled away and whacked him on the head. "Fucking pervert!"

"Tasha?" He pouted. "Please?"

"No."

* * *

Natasha yawned as she waited outside his room, scratching the back of her head.

"What are you thinking about, Agent?" Fury sat down beside her, hooking his arm on her chair.

"Nothing…" She sighed. "I'm just tired, Barton's been a handful this week."

"Now, you see the true colours of Phil Coulson." He chuckled.

"Are you here to check up on Clint?"

"I am. There's something I need to talk to him about… in private." He gave her a look.

"Alright. I'll just wait outside."

"Why don't you go home first? I'll make sure he gets dropped off."

"I… Alright. Thank you, Director."

* * *

"Director Fury…" Clint slipped his shirt back on as he groaned, standing in front of him. "What do I have the pleasure of - "

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Barton." He smirked. "I'd be lost without my archer."

"Thanks… I guess. Where's Natasha?"

"She went home."

"What?"

"I sent her."

"Oh."

"Don't you think that you two have been spending… a lot of time together. I mean, first she moves in, and then you go on missions together, spend your free time together… Might we be expecting some good news?"

"No, sir, we just - "

"I know what you two have been up to."

"We haven't…"

"Really? Holding hands in the waiting room outside? I've watched the footage."

"We just…"

"You know the regulations, Clint. I'm speaking to you as a mentor. You've gotten real close to her, I get it. Watch the boundaries, that's all I'm trying to say. You know the protocols as well as I do. Stick to it."

"Sir, but - "

"I can't let you continue what you're doing now, Clint, if you're going to go around breaking all the rules."

"I haven't broken too many of them." He said.

"Enough to make me concerned. The council is watching my back. This isn't about you or her, it's about SHIELD. They're considering dropping the fundings, and in all honesty, we're not going to be able to keep running, without it. They're gonna pick at anything they can find."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"I know. Don't put the entire organisation at risk, would you? Watch yourself. Be reasonable. The reason that I put her on watch was - "

"To see how far we would take it. I get it. You want to know where our partnership will take us."

"I'm glad you understand. Then you'll know what to do, Clint."

"Yes, sir." He sighed.

"Train hard. I expect consistent results."

"I will. How am I getting home?"

"Phil's driving you."

"This is like day one all over again."

Fury chuckled, clapping him on the shoulders. "Oh, one more thing… He's gonna hand you a file… We've compiled a database on a certain someone, and we were hoping you could lend us some insight."

"Why? Why me?"

"Because he's your brother."

**~End of chapter~**

****_A/N: Thank you for reading this chapter! Hope you enjoyed it and please** review~** I'm gonna be away next week, the entire week, so depending on progress; I'll either update in two days of next Saturday (: _

_Inspiration: The Mentalist (S1E16) Bloodshot_


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